


28 Sidhe Treats (formerly known as 64 Days of Sidhe Treats)

by Chazzam



Series: The Sidhe [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chazzam/pseuds/Chazzam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2012, I posted several drabbles, fics, bits of meta and so forth on tumblr to celebrate the 1-year anniversary of my fic, The Sidhe.  I had originally hoped to post something every day for 64 days, but ended up with the 28 tidbits of varying length, which I still consider a pretty respectable effort.  Here you will find all 28 treats in one handy-dandy document.  Ratings range from G to NC-17, and all warnings for The Sidhe are in effect.  If you have any specific triggers that you are concerned about, please message me on tumblr for specific warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	28 Sidhe Treats (formerly known as 64 Days of Sidhe Treats)

**1\. What a Difference a Year Makes**

 

Blaine felt Kurt’s gaze on him before he saw it in the flickering candlelight that bathed the bedroom in a soft glow. He had lingered at the baths after leaving the farm early, and stopped at the markets to buy some of the floating candles, scented with lotus blossom and honeysuckle, that Kurt loved so much. The candles floated in glass bowls placed artistically throughout the room, and he wasn’t sure when he had drifted off, waiting for Kurt to get home. Or - well, back to the Inn. But until their own home was finished growing, it was the closest they had. 

He blinked drowsily and turned his head to where he felt Kurt’s eyes on him, soft and full of so much love. Kurt was standing in the doorway, just looking. Blaine had no idea how long he’d been there.

“Mmmm, c’mere,” Blaine murmured. “Missed you.”  He still wasn’t used to Kurt’s long work days, and how much less time it gave them together.

“I missed you too,” Kurt replied, shedding his clothes as he made his way over to the bed. “The room looks beautiful, Blaine. Is there…is it some sort of special occasion?”

Blaine sighed happily as Kurt slipped into his arms, and they lost themselves for several moments of soft, slow kisses. When they finally pulled back, Blaine smiled and stroked Kurt’s cheek.

“A year,” he replied.

“Hmmm?” Kurt asked. “A year since we-”

“A year since the first day I laid eyes on you. A year since I fell in love.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he said softly. “Blaine, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

Blaine kissed him gently. “Don’t apologize. I almost missed it myself. But Sanya has a Villaluan calendar up in her kitchen next to the Faerie calendar and…well. About a week ago it hit me. I wanted to do something, to make it a little bit special.”

His hand drifted from Kurt’s cheek to his chest, and Blaine began smoothing his thumb in circles over Kurt’s promise pendant. Kurt ran his hand idly along the soft skin of Blaine’s shoulder. They lay together like that for a long time, just holding each other, Blaine’s head tucked into the curve of Kurt’s neck.

“Blaine?” Kurt asked softly when he felt warm moisture collecting on his skin.  Blaine bit his lip.  He had hoped Kurt wouldn’t notice. “Are you crying, love?”

“Kurt.” Blaine’s voice was choked, almost broken. “I just…if I hadn’t found you. I…” his body shuddered and he gave a loud sob, burrowing tighter into Kurt’s embrace.

Kurt held him tight, wrapping him up in his arms, and running his hands soothingly down Blaine’s back.

“I…I probably would have continued to work for Dronyen, do you know that? I would have hated myself more and more with each passing day, I probably would have ended up married to a woman…”

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt sighed softly, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.

“I’m sorry.” Blaine wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “God, Kurt, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t be talking about how hard  _my_  life would have been if I hadn’t found  _you_. At least I was free, after all. At least-”

“Blaine. Hush. Just because you weren’t enslaved does not mean that you would have been free. You are too gentle a soul for the life of a Villaluan gentleman. It would have crushed you.”

Blaine pulled one of Kurt’s hands off of his back and laced their fingers together, their joined hands coming to rest on Kurt’s navel.

“I would have been expected to take a Sidhe slave eventually,” Blaine added softly. “But I wouldn’t – I mean, I would never-”

“I know, Blaine.”

“I would probably have turned to drink. Perhaps I would have become one of those angry old men with pink-streaked eyes and shaking hands who beat their wives as a means of expressing their misery-”

“No.”

“Kurt, you don’t-”

“No. You may have been miserable, Blaine, but you would never harm someone in your care, no matter how much you may resent them. It isn’t in your nature.”

“I just…if I hadn’t found you…”

“I know.” Kurt worked his hand free from Blaine’s, and placed his fingers against Blaine’s chin, gently nudging his face upward until their eyes met.

Kurt’s face was so lovely in the candlelight, the glint in his eyes slightly softened, and his pale skin taking on a golden-peach glow. “But you did find me, Blaine. You will always find me. Nothing can ever truly keep us apart.”

“You saved my life, Kurt,” Blaine whispered. “I know you always say I saved yours, but…you saved mine too. Truly.”

Kurt kissed him, slowly shifting their bodies until they were pressed flush against one another, legs tangled and pendants pressing dents into one another’s skin.

“I love you,” Kurt murmured, peppering tiny kisses across Blaine’s face.

Blaine sighed happily, allowing his eyes to drift closed as their bodies began awakening to one another in earnest. “I love you too.”

Kurt shifted them again so that he was lying on top of Blaine. He raised himself up on his hands, hovering above Blaine and gazing down at him with adoration laced with mischief.

“I think, darling boy, that this would be the perfect opportunity to remind you that you will never have a wife.” His grin grew almost devilish as he plucked a heavy red flower from the shrub growing beside the bed.

Kurt seemed to sense exactly what Blaine needed; the raw intensity that the day was stirring inside him, the senseless yearning for what he knew he already had, did not need to be communicated through words.

He had come so close to never finding Kurt. To never finding the courage to free him even after he did see him. To doubting his own feelings from the start. Blaine bit his lip and tried not to cry, because he felt silly and he couldn’t explain it.

But Kurt merely kissed his tears away and massaged his whole body with flower oil, stroking his cock lazily while they kissed, not stopping until Blaine’s tears turned to moans of pleasure.

Kurt worked him open slowly, gently, whispering words of adoration and desire as his mouth left throbbing trails (and pink marks) across Blaine’s hips, thighs, stomach, arms, chest. He turned Blaine over and massaged his ass, kissing and nipping at the cheeks and then licking hot and hard across Blaine’s entrance until Blaine was sobbing all over again, begging for more.

Kurt kissed Blaine’s shoulder softly as he entered him, as gentle as he had the very first time, whispering how beautiful and perfect Blaine was, how he was more than Kurt had ever dared to want.

“Gods, Blaine, you feel amazing. So amazing.” Kurt’s thrusts were shallow at first, his whole body draped over Blaine’s, and it was the most warm, safe, erotic thing Blaine had ever felt in his life.

Blaine sighed and let himself go pliant, allowed Kurt to push his hips up so he could thrust more deeply, getting Blaine into the exact position that would give them both the most pleasure.

Blaine felt his eyes roll back in his head, a deep groan sliding out of him when Kurt pressed that perfect spot inside his body.

“Gods, Blaine,” Kurt gasped, and Blaine turned his head and opened his eyes so he could see Kurt’s face when he came.

Blaine was so lucky that it almost hurt to think about it. A year ago, he had seen Kurt and he had made a reckless choice. And now Kurt’s promise pendant was pressing into Blaine’s back as Kurt fucked him hard and deep, and they were safe and free to love each other for hundreds of years, and Kurt was beautiful and strong and brave and he was going to be Blaine’s lifemate.

Kurt’s face was stunning when he came. It was the most beautiful thing ever crafted by the gods, and in the candlelight he was nothing less than living art.

Blaine found his own release mere seconds later, the sight of Kurt’s gorgeous flushed face coupled with the feel of his hard, flushed cock driving into Blaine as he rode out his orgasm were more than enough to finish him off.

Kurt kissed the back of Blaine’s neck exactly three times and then rolled off of him, returning with a cloth to wipe him off. Blaine rolled onto his side when Kurt climbed back into the bed and snuggled close.

“You’re incredible,” Kurt murmured.

“So are you. You’re the best lover I’ve ever had.”

Kurt blushed slightly, and circled Blaine’s pendant with an index finger.

“You know that nothing – no one – is going to take me from you, don’t you?” Kurt asked.

Blaine nodded.“It’s just – sometimes I get scared. Because it’s too much. It’s too good. I can’t possibly deserve-”

Kurt kissed him before he could finish his thought. “That’s lingering Villaluan cultural influence, Blaine. There’s no reason for joy and love to bring you guilt – you deserve all of it, all right?”

“I can’t possibly deserve you, though.”

“But you do, Blaine. Because I’m in love with you and I want to keep you with me and  _I_ deserve  _you_. So, yes. You do.”

Blaine laughed softly and reached out to trace the flesh around Kurt’s pendant, mirroring the way that Kurt was tracing the pendant on Blaine’s own chest.

“So today is our anniversary, in a way,” Kurt mused.

“In a way. I mean, you never even saw me that day, and even after you met me you hated me at fi-”

“I never hated you,” Kurt corrected him softly. “And I did see you that day. I noticed you.”

Blaine stared at him. “You did?”

Kurt nodded. “You…you weren’t looking at me like the others. There was something so different – it was like you  _saw_  me. Everyone else just saw how they might use me or profit from me, but you saw me. And then you came to me and spoke to me in my cell and I – I didn’t hate you. You just scared me.”

Blaine couldn’t hide his surprise. “I…why?”

“Because you gave me hope. And I knew that I couldn’t survive losing hope again.”

Blaine’s eyes widened and he pulled Kurt as close as possible, hugging him like he might die if he ever stopped.

“I think we should keep it,” Kurt said after a moment.

“Hmmm?”

“Today. I think this is a good anniversary. We should be all moved in to the new house by this time next year, and – well, we have been trying to choose a date for the wedding.”

Blaine didn’t loosen his hold on Kurt, but he did move his head back far enough to look into Kurt’s eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. “I…yes.”

Kurt’s face broke into a radiant smile. “Happy anniversary,” he said fondly.

“Happy anniversary,” Blaine returned, before pressing his smiling lips to Kurt’s.

By the time the candlelight dwindled into darkness, both men were fast asleep.

 

*****

**2.**

“Who’s Chandler?”

The fear and the anguish he was feeling didn’t really surprise Blaine. Kurt was texting with another guy, after all. A guy that was blatantly and brazenly flirting with Kurt. A guy that undeniably  _wanted_  his Kurt. And it wasn’t exactly that Kurt was flirting back, because he wasn’t, not really, it just…

There was something else.

Blaine’s connection with Kurt was intense. What they had between them was special – incredibly special – perhaps even weirdly special. Blaine knew that. He knew it like he knew his own name. He was going to miss Kurt so much when he left for New York, and Blaine knew he’d been pulling away, so maybe he only had himself to blame, really.

But.

Kurt was leaving and Blaine couldn’t go with him. He couldn’t follow, they couldn’t have a life together, because this other guy, this other guy who was probably tall and gorgeous with dark, tousled hair and burgundy eyes-

Blaine was losing his mind. Nobody had burgundy  _eyes._ That was just plain crazy. Except that Chandler might be just the sort of asshole to wear colored contacts and then act all flattered and humble when someone told him he had beautiful eyes, like they were gifted to him by nature.  Disingenuous bastard.

Blaine hated Chandler.

He left Kurt’s house torn between heartbreak and blind rage. How could Kurt think- how could he sit there and tell Blaine that it was okay, as if  _Blaine_ were the one being unreasonable?

In his dreams Chandler had burgundy eyes. In his dreams he was formidable and terrifying, rich and powerful, and even though Kurt loved Blaine he obviously cared for Chandler too.

Blaine sobbed and begged for Kurt not to leave him, not to walk off into the sunset with Chandler, but it was as if there were a soundproof glass wall between them. All he could do was watch helplessly while Chandler took the love of his life away, and Blaine was thrown in a prison cell, where he would spend the rest of his life alone.

(and wait – was Puck there? Blaine was pretty sure Puck was there for some reason. It was really weird and didn’t make any sense, but whatever. At least Puck wasn’t trying to take Kurt away from him).

He woke up crying, and then went to Glee club and Kurt sang to him and he cried again, then they went to Ms. Pillsbury’s office and he cried a  _third_ time, but at least he and Kurt made up, and then they went back to his place after Glee practice and made love until Kurt’s curfew, and Kurt deleted Chandler’s contact information from his phone and promised not to text him any more.

And then things were fine. Better, actually, then they had been before. Things were _wonderful_. Because he wasn’t going to lose Kurt, they were going to get through their year apart, and then they would be together for the rest of their lives and have lots of babies, and Blaine would insist on Kurt being the sperm donor, because Kurt’s children would be absolutely gorgeous.

And months later, when Kurt and Blaine ran into a boy at the Lima Bean that Kurt awkwardly introduced to Blaine as Chandler, all Blaine could do was take in the short blond boy with a very-cute-but-not-quite-devastatingly-handsome face and perfectly blue eyes, and smile.

 

*****

 **3.** Exerpt _from a textbook in the Library of Sidhe Culture in Khryslee:_

 

**Grimchins:**

**_Aevucula Grimichira Inse’shnuerae_**  (known colloquially in the Common Lands and some parts of Villalu as  _Grimchins_ ) are a subset of  ** _Aevucula Inse’shnuerae_** in the genus _ **Dragous**._  Grimchins are distinguished by their thickly furred bodies, usually similar in color to the flowers upon which they feed, and are noted for their production of  _ **hybisclluon** , _a fermented nectar blend that is prized amongst Sidhe for its hallucinogenic properties, and commonly used in Soul Walks.

The domestication of Grimchins by Sidhe predates written history, but seems to have been in effect since some of the earliest elfin settlers discovered and colonized this world. Domesticated Grimchins are highly intelligent and are generally easy to train. Though they are considered domesticated animals when held to the Breshkila Standard, they are an anomaly in that they are both singularly intelligent creatures and hive animals.

Grimchins will not live more than 500 miles from an established hive, and require contact with the hive several times a year in order to mate, maintain the hive structure and contribute to nectar production. Hives are underground pocketed structures built from plant proteins, and can be up to a kilometer deep and usually about three kilometers wide.  Grimchin Queens do not leave the hive and will emit a hormone to summon domesticated hive members when she is in need of assistance. Because of this, Sidhe hive-keepers are usually stationed at hives in populated areas in order to tend to the needs of the queen and minimize her need to summon other hive members.

Grimchins primarily eat the nectar and pollen of  _ **Infloresca Goli’thiha**  _(known colloquielly as Mammoth Blossoms or Flower Trees), but can survive on the sap of other large plants and flowering trees when necessary. Grimchins are important contributors to biotic pollination throughout the Common Lands, and are prized by the Sidhe for this fact more than any other.

The first appearance of a Grimchin in Sidhe mythology is in the tale of Friu’cculuoa, Keeper of the Junction Between Land and Sea. Friu’cculuoa is described as attempting to ride a Grimchin over the Great Sea, but is unable to coax her Grimchin to bring her to the opposite coast, so far from the Grimchin’s hive. She summons forth a chain of islands to land upon instead, thus creating the Western Isles.

_See also **Domesticated Fauna**  and  **Methods of Transportation.**_

 

*****

 

**4.**

“Wait,  _you_ have children?” Blaine asked.  He and Puck were sitting at their favorite table in the palace gardens, eating plates of cheese and hibiscus, respectively.

Puck shrugged. “Yeah. Of course. Well, I mean, they’re not  _mine,_ really, I’m not raising them, but I did help make them.” Puck looked extremely proud of himself, like he was bragging about having helped make a fancy dinner. “I see them sometimes.”

Blaine studied him. “Doesn’t it make you sad?”

Puck just looked confused. “What do you mean?” he asked around a mouthful of petals.

“Well…don’t you want to be part of their lives? Don’t they miss you?”

“If they miss me, I just go visit them. And if I wanted to raise the little fuckers I would have said so before their moms and I made them available to non-breeders,” Puck explained, as if it were the most straightforward thing in the world.

“So they don’t live with their mothers either?”

Puck stared at Blaine as if he were an especially slow-to-develop toddler. “These are  _red bracelet_ ladies, Blaine. They don’t tend to dig the whole motherhood gig that often. Too much commitment.”

Blaine thought it over. He had wondered about the many same-sex Sidhe lifemates he saw raising children. He supposed it made more sense than child-rearing being a matter of biological accident.

“In fact, I’ve recently learned that I’ve got another on the way,” Puck added, his voice raising a bit as Firae walked down the garden path to join them, a basket of flowers in his arms. “Should be born just in time for Tash and Firae to make a little princess or prince out of ‘em.”

Firae snorted, sinking into one of the empty chairs at the table. “Please, Puck. We have standards.”

“The mother’s Spiral,” Puck mentioned casually, stealing a honeysuckle blossom from Firae’s basket and popping it into his mouth.

Firae was unable to keep his eyes from snapping up to meet Puck’s. “Well, then,” he said, struggling to remain calm, “I suppose we should talk.”

Puck smirked. “Yeah. I suppose we should.”

 

*****

**5\. Weep Not For the Memories**

 

In worlds far removed from the gods, soul-memories get buried deep.  But the closer to the heart of all worlds one gets, the closer to hidden truths one becomes.    
  
And in the innermost worlds, those that are separated from the heart of all worlds by the thinnest membrane, pulsing in time with the living heart that All That Is…well.   In those worlds creatures are born remembering  _everything._  
  
“I used to live in a jungle,” a child will say.  “I used to live beneath the sea.  I used to be a pixie, I used to be a lion, I used to be a sylph.”  And no adult would ever think to question them.  
  
“I have a soulmate,” a little boy says, black curls blowing wild in the wind, hazel eyes wide and earnest.  “Not just a regular soulmate.  The gods made us as one thing, and then split us into two.”  
  
The little boy’s brother nods at him.  “Have you been with him in many other lives?” He asks.  
  
The little boy nods.  “Almost all of them.  Cooper, I  _miss_ him.”  
  
“Does it hurt?” Cooper asks.  “Being apart from him?”  
  
The little boy nods again, miserably this time.  “Will you help me find him?  Please?”  
  
Cooper hugs him.  “Of course, little B.  Tell me what you know.”

**~000~**

  
Far away (but closer than either of them dare to expect), another little boy is crying as his father holds him.  
  
“Why can’t I find him?”  He asks.  “I’ve been looking for so long.”  
  
“You’re only seven, bud,” his father says, trying to placate the child.  “Most people have to look a lot longer than that.”  
  
The little boy shakes his head, his blue-green eyes spilling over with tears.  “It  _has_  been longer than that.  We didn’t find each other at  _all_  last time.  Last time was long and sad and lonely, and I miss him so much I feel like I can’t breathe.”  
  
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” his father says, rubbing gentle circles on his back.  His father does not ask the question that hangs heavy between them;  _what if he isn’t here this time either?_  
  
“He is,” the little boy says, without being asked.  “He’s here. I can feel it.”

**~000~**

  
Blaine tells Cooper everything he knows about his soulmate, but the issue is one that has persisted for years in this world: the things that Blaine knows are not things they can use to trace the boy.  Blaine knows the boy’s essence, physical features that tend to be consistent across most incarnations, the sense of peace he gives Blaine - but he couldn’t say what the boy’s name might be.  He couldn’t say how old he is or where he might live.  He can’t even say if he’s a he this time.  Blaine’s only six, so he isn’t sure yet whether he likes boys or girls or both or neither  _like that_ _._   All he knows is that he wants his soulmate.  That he feels empty without him.

**~000~**

  
That summer, the little boy with the blue-green eyes takes a cross-country trip with his mother and father.  They are going to a popular tourist destination, a region where magic is thick and adventure is inevitable.  The little boy - Kurt - is excited.  This will be his first time adventuring with the adults, and he can’t wait to see what sort of quest is in store for him.  He falls asleep in the back seat of their station wagon, and dreams about adventures he’s had with his soulmate.  He dreams of a time when he was an elf and his soulmate a human, and they spent  hundreds of years together and everything was sweet and sad and vivid and intense.  He dreams of time when he was a cat and his soulmate was a dog, and they ran away from a house of cruel humans and ended up living together in a house of kind ones instead, their lives short and sweet and simple and content.  He dreams of times when he was simply a boy, such as he is right now, and they found each other and lost each other, and found each other and kept each other, but they always, always found each other.  
  
Kurt wakes up alone and starts to cry.

**~000~**

  
Cooper brings Blaine to the enchanted forest that summer; their parents had agreed to pay for the boys to spend a week there, provided Cooper agreed not to bring Blaine on any of the high-risk- adventures offered.  They wander along the forest gate, listening as nymphs and gnomes whisper to them about quests that must be fulfilled.  Worlds in peril, gods entrapped, innocence threatened.  Cooper finally settles on a simple mission: a small, pale nymph with sad brown eyes tells him of a lost baby unicorn, destined to be an important leader of creatures in the forest.  The little unicorn can only be summoned by the heart of a child.  It’s perfect for them.  
  
Cooper and Blaine spend the first day of their journey assembling clues and seeking guidance from tree-dwelling sprites.  They sleep in a small, abandoned cabin with a rather tame poltergeist, and gather berries for their breakfast.  As they advance deeper into the forest they begin to sing softly together, their voices winding around one another pleasantly as muted green sunlight shines through the leaves overhead, lending an unearthly glow to the world around them.  
  
Until Blaine stops with a gasp.  
  
“He’s here.”  
  
Blaine runs as fast as he possibly can.  He faintly hears Cooper in the distance yelling for him to stop, to slow down, to tell him what’s happening.  But he can’t, he  _can’t_ slow down, not even for a moment.  He can’t take the time to explain to Cooper just what’s happening, because all he knows is that he’s being tugged as if by an actual rope, pulled through the dense vegetation, deeper and deeper into the forest.  
  
He manages to navigate thick, gnarled tree roots, rocks, shrubs and snakes.  It isn’t until he reaches the little clearing that he falls hard, skinning both his knees.  
  
Blaine cries out in pain, but the sound is cut off abruptly when he looks up and finds himself faced with the most magnificent sight he could have possibly imagined.  
  
In the center of the clearing, standing in a beam of pure sunlight, is a unicorn foal.  Its coat is pure gold, its eyes indigo, and the tiny nub that will one day grow into its horn is bordered in soft, downy fluff.    
  
And on its back sits the most beautiful boy Blaine has ever seen.  His hair is a glossy chestnut brown, and his blue-green eyes are stunning in the sunlight.  If it weren’t for his modern clothing, he could easily be mistaken for one of the many woodland elves peppered throughout the forest.  
  
Blaine climbs to his feet and moves toward the boy and the foal, heedless of the blood running down his legs from his scraped knees.  His eyes lock on the boy’s eyes, and it feels like electricity is buzzing through his veins.  The boy’s breath hitches, and his face settles into a shy, hopeful smile.  
  
When Blaine finds himself standing just inches away from the boy, he reaches for him and takes his hand, kissing it softly before looking up and meeting the boy’s eyes once again.   
  
“My name is Blaine,” he says.  
  
“Kurt,” returns the boy, his voice clear and pretty as a bell. He doesn’t let go of Blaine’s hand.  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine repeats softly, returning Kurt’s smile.  “There you are.”  
  
Blaine,” Kurt replies.  “I’ve been looking for you forever.”

 

*****

 **6.** Pure Firash.  So if you’re just in it for the Klaine, I’m afraid there’s nothing to see here.

  **~000~**

Firae had the most comfortable bed in all corporeal worlds. Of this Tash was nearly certain.

It wasn’t long after their courtship became public that Tash officially moved into Firae’s room. They had been sneaking into one another’s bedchambers for months before that, giggling and whispering into the dark like schoolboys beneath the sheets. As much fun as their (poorly kept, it was true) secret had been, it was a relief to finally just  _be_  together openly.

And Tash’s old room – well, it was nice. Of course it was  _nice,_ it was in the Great Hall, but it was nothing like Firae’s room.

Firae’s room was almost as large as Tash’s house in the lower midlands had been, and his bed was – well it wasn’t exactly a  _stage,_ but the bed frame was grown onto a platform, and the platform did have steps – seven steps, to be precise – laid into each side. And there were thick, heavy curtains he could draw to make the bed into their own little universe if they wanted to, and vines covered in red flowers climbed up all four bedposts.

The bed was so large that Tash could lie spread-eagle in the center of it (and he knew this from experience) and not come close to touching the edges. It felt incredibly sexy to have Firae looming over him or laid out beneath him in such undeniably  _royal_ surroundings. It reminded him that no one else got to see their king completely fall apart, eyes fogged with equal parts trust and pleasure. The room reflected what the world saw of Firae. The slick-skinned naked man that couldn’t seem to stop touching him – that was what Tash saw. And no one else.

Tash sincerely hoped it would remain that way.

He had been thinking about it a lot lately – the idea of committing himself to Firae, of marrying him. They had talked about it in the abstract, but it was almost always Firae that brought it up.

Because Tash couldn’t. He  _couldn’t_ ask Firae – as much as he might feel like Firae’s equal when they were wrapped up together in bed or strolling together in the gardens, arms linked and deep in conversation, in the end Firae was still his King. And Tash was still no more than a divorced schoolteacher of Common Caste.

He couldn’t ask Firae. It wasn’t his place.

But he was thinking about it as he lay in that bed he loved so much, breathing in the scent of Firae all around him and wishing things were simpler. He was thinking about it in that very moment when the bed dipped slightly beside him, signaling Firae’s presence.

Firae sat on the edge of the bed quietly. Tash gave a questioning murmur.

“You’re awake?” Firae’s voice was soft, careful.

“I’m awake,” Tash confirmed with a yawn. “I just wasn’t ready to move quite yet. What are you doing up so early?” Tash cracked open a single eye.

“I, um, had some things I needed to take care of,” Firae answered, looking strangely nervous. Tash opened both eyes and sat up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Nothing! Nothing, truly. I…” Firae bit his lip and looked down at his lap. “I want to ask you something, but I’m afraid.”

Tash could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. “Afraid?” He hated how small his voice sounded. Had Firae finally had enough of Tash? Taking him as a lover and companion had caused enough trouble already, so it certainly wouldn’t be a surprise. A  _devastation,_ yes, but not a surprise. And of course Firae would be afraid to tell him, he surely wouldn’t want to  _hurt_ Tash.

“It’s all right,” Tash said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Whatever you need to do, I won’t blame you. It’s all right, Firae, I understand, I…”

“ _Tash.”_  Firae spoke in his King Voice, that tone that somehow made everyone around him close their mouths and listen, no matter whether or not they wanted to.

“I think…I don’t think you understand.” Firae turned and crawled to the center of the bed, crossing his legs and sitting in front of Tash, as close as possible without climbing into his lap. He took both of Tash’s hands. “I’ve been…I didn’t want to ask you until I knew. Sree’s got most of the priestesses convinced that…well. I think you know what she’s been saying.” Firae sighed heavily and looked into Tash’s eyes. “I finally found a respected priestess that is willing to perform the ceremony. Lisikyia of the Northern River Valley? I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

Tash nodded, brow knitted in confusion. “Of course I have. She runs the Eastern academy for Spirit Caste youth. Some of her methods are really quite controversial, but I think she’s really helping the students to maximize their – uh.” Tash flushed slightly at Firae’s attempt to mask his impatience. “Yes. I’ve heard of her.” He paused, then blinked. “Wait. Ceremony? What….?”

It was as if he were in a dream. Tash couldn’t seem to fully register what was happening when Firae reached into his pocket with trembling hands and produced a pouch. Even when he then reached into the pouch and pulled out the most intricately beautiful matching green pendants that Tash had ever seen, Tash didn’t feel as if he truly understood any of it.

The stones were smooth and rounded, set in a bed of silver with flawless silver lacework around the edges. They hung from delicate chains, also of silver, and Tash thought he spied writing on the back when the one Firae was holding up spun slightly.

Tash just stared.

“Tash,” Firae began, “Will you-” before he could get any further, Tash touched the pendant that hung from Firae’s fingers and turned it, because he suddenly needed to know what it said more than anything.

 _Love has no caste,_  it read.

It was a simple inscription, and nothing Firae hadn’t said to him at least a hundred times. But somehow seeing it there, something that Firae had clearly had inscribed on both of their…

On both of their promise pendants.

Firae was giving Tash a  _promise pendant._

And then it clicked. Tash burst into tears.

Firae smiled at him through his own tears, and began shakily making his way through the formal proposal. And all Tash could do was sob and laugh and tell him  _yes._

Yes, yes, yes. The word throbbed in his heart and his brain and his soul, and he felt like he couldn’t possibly say it enough to convey just how much he wanted this.

The moment the pendant was placed against his chest it felt like it had always been there, like it was part of his very body.  _Yes._

“Yes,”he whispered sleepily against Firae’s neck hours later as they lay tangled together. “Yes, yes, always  _yes.”_

 

*****

 

**7.**

Kurt felt Blaine’s eyes heavy on him as he pulled into the parking lot of the Lima Bean.  He glanced over at his boyfriend and narrowed his eyes.  “You’re staring at my ears.”

“I…no I…all right, I was.  But why shouldn’t I?  Your ears are adorable.”

“You had one of those elf dreams again last night, didn’t you?”  

Blaine laughed as he unbuckled his seatbelt.  “You’re ridiculous.”

They climbed out of the car and walked toward the entrance to the coffee shop quickly, Kurt getting there seconds before Blaine and opening the door for him with a victorious smirk.  It was an unspoken competition between them, each trying to be the more chivalrous one at any given time.  Which might technically undermine the entire concept of chivalry, but whatever.  The result was lots of lovely bouquets and romantic little notes and opened doors and carried bags, and neither of them could pretend they didn’t delight in it, not really.

“You  _did_ have another elf dream, admit it,” Kurt said once they took their places in line for their before-school coffees.

Blaine sighed.  “Okay, fine.  I know it’s weird, I just….”  Blaine studied Kurt’s profile.  “I mean, it really isn’t much of a  _stretch,_  Kurt.  You look like something out of a fantasy novel.”

“Fuck you,” Kurt muttered, his eyes darting around nervously as if he was afraid of getting arrested for swearing in public.

“Well, you’re definitely something out of  _my_ fantasy novel,” Blaine added, wagging his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

“That doesn’t even make any  _sense_ _,_  Blaine.”

“I swear to god you must have been an elf in a past life or something.”

“And I’m the ridiculous one?”

Blaine brushed his fingertips down Kurt’s arm.  “You know I don’t mean, like, a house elf from  _Harry Potter_  or something, right?  I mean a Tolkien-esque elf.  A beautiful elf.”  Blaine leaned in so his plump lips almost brushed the shell of Kurt’s ear.  “A  _hot_ elf,” he breathed.  Kurt felt his throat go dry and he tried not to visibly swoon.

“Well, as long as we’re calling one another Tolkien-esque,” Kurt shot back, focusing as hard as he could on keeping his voice steady.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying, Blaine-”

“Don’t you  _dare.”_

“-that if I’m an elf, you’re clearly a hob-”

“Oh look, we’re up,” Blaine said loudly, pulling Kurt to the counter to order.

They ordered their coffees, and when the barista asked if they were paying together or separately, Kurt answered “together” firmly.  “It’s on Frodo today,” he added.  “He owes me.”  

Blaine scowled but paid without complaint.

“Those dreams will cost you,” Kurt said lightly when Blaine turned his scowl on him.  

“I didn’t even tell you the best part,” Blaine said, beating Kurt to the door this time and holding it open for him.

“Oh, it gets better?  Be still my heart,” Kurt murmured, sipping his mocha.

“Yeah,” Blaine said with an expression that somehow managed to be both dreamy and dirty.  He leaned in close.  “There were these red flowers…”

Kurt almost dropped his coffee before they made it to the car.

 

*****

 

 **8.** **  
**

Cholia didn’t even have time to realize something wasn’t right before there were men at her door.

Men insisting she tell them where Blaine was, threatening to imprison her and Biri, Blaine’s younger brother, if she didn’t talk.

Imprison them or  _worse,_  they had said.

She did manage to convince them that they didn’t know – that neither of them had heard from Blaine for months, and while unusual, she had just figured he was too busy with his job and his life in Villalu Proper to send them a letter and money like he usually did (She couldn’t bring herself to bother him, even if it meant they went to sleep with rumbling stomachs – Blaine had gone on to better things, after all, and she had never been able to give him the childhood he’d deserved. What right did she have to ask anything of him)?

By the time the men left, satisfied that she’d told them what little she knew (which wasn’t anything, really), they’d gone as far as pulling out three of her fingernails, but no further. She was grateful for that, but it meant that she wouldn’t be able to weave her baskets and sell them at the market like she usually did. Luckily, Biri had some skill with weaving, and he had had a good year with the crops, so they managed to struggle through.

With rumbling stomachs.

At first all Cholia knew was that Blaine had run off. He had stolen from the prince and left the palace and whatever he stole was clearly of great value.  Valuable enough to send soldiers all the way to N’auri to interrogate his family.

Valuable enough, it seemed, to send them twice.

The second time the men came (different men this time, but looking almost genetically similar), she discovered that Blaine was accused of stealing the prince’s prize Sidhe slave. The men were less aggressive this time, just looking to see if Blaine had been in any kind of contact with her, and causing no long-term physical damage when she insisted that he had not.  The shock on her face when they told her of Blaine’s crime probably helped her in this regard.

Cholia found herself walking toward the burnt and crumbled shrine of her mother’s sand god while she puzzled out what she had heard. It made no sense that Blaine would take a slave; Blaine had always been as deeply saddened by the enslavement of Sidhe as Cholia herself, and she couldn’t imagine her sweet little boy taking a slave for his own use and dark enjoyment.

It was true she hadn’t seen much of Blaine since he had left for the Academy – his visits had been brief, infrequent and laced with melancholy, as Cholia tried desperately to provide a little of the maternal warmth that was so difficult for her to summon – but she couldn’t imagine that he had changed  _that_ much. When she had first told him about the enslavement of the Sidhe, he had wept. True, the knowledge bothered most children, but it had always seemed to hurt Blaine so  _deeply._  He had always reminded Cholia of her mother so very much in this regard.

Cholia reached the place that had once been the shrine, and laid a lily tenderly upon the parched earth. “Please don’t let it be true,” she had whispered, unsure of who she was speaking to. “Please don’t let him have lost himself completely.”

The third time someone arrived, it was one solitary man, and though he was wearing the colors of those in the king’s employ, he did not appear to be a soldier.

When Cholia got a good look at him, she realized that she knew him.

Trent looked different from the boy that she remembered, but he retained enough of his earnest, baby-faced charm to put her quickly at ease.

He came to speak to her of Blaine, he confessed, but not on the king’s behalf. He came because he wanted to tell her what he knew. He believed that she, too, deserved to know that much.

Cholia remembered him from the time Blaine had brought him home between semesters in his second year at the Academy. Blaine had said he was a dear friend, but the way they looked at each other, the way their fingers brushed against one another a bit too often, had confirmed what she had always suspected about her eldest son.

“He…” Trent began, assessing her nervously as if truly afraid. “Do you know about…the sort of friendship that Blaine and I had?” he asked her finally, all in a rush, his face very pink.

Cholia nodded, and gave Trent a gentle smile. “He never said, but…I knew. You boys were very sweet together.”

Trent’s face went even pinker, and he averted his gaze. “It wasn’t…for very long, you understand. But he was the first boy who…we were the first for one another. The first _everything._  And Blaine…” Trent sighed, looked at Cholia with eyes so full of pain they almost made her wince.

“Blaine’s heart is true. Far too true for this world, and I-” Trent swallowed. “I’m not as honest about who I am.  I  _can’t_ be.  I’m not brave enough, and I won’t even pretend that my heart is pure. But I just wanted –  _needed –_ for you to know that he didn’t take a slave. He would never do that.”

Cholia felt her heart swell with relief and pride. She sighed deeply and smiled.

“He did leave the palace with the prince’s slave, but – and mind you, I only know what I’ve heard, but I believe my sources to be reliable – I heard that the slave killed at least a dozen soldiers to protect Blaine. Which of course means that Blaine  _wasn’t_ holding him as a slave, because his powers were unsuppressed, and he obviously  _chose_  to protect Blaine.”

Cholia swallowed, staring at Trent and willing herself not to shake.

All her life she had heard whispered tales of Faerie country. All her life she had thought that perhaps there was a place that wasn’t like Villalu, a place where she could have been happy, where her mother wouldn’t have been murdered in the night, where Blaine could-

“Are you – has anyone said – does it appear that they are in love?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Trent reached out and covered her hand gently with his own. She clutched at it and stared at him, hungry to know more.

“From what I know – based upon the route they seemed to be taking the last time they were spotted and – I couldn’t say for sure, but from what others have gathered, it seems like they were heading for the border.”

Cholia’s eyes filled with tears. “They’re going to Khryslee,” she whispered. She covered her mouth with the hand not holding onto Trent, and allowed the tears to flow free. Allowed herself to really  _feel_ in a way she hadn’t for so many years. Blaine wasn’t simply getting by or making do. He wasn’t simply achieving the only kind of success that had been available to him – the sort that would allow him to live in financial comfort while he died on the inside.

Blaine – her son – had gotten out. He had  _escaped_ this horrible world.

She wept and wept, the stubborn block of ice that had built up around her heart melting ever so slightly.

Cholia was never going to see her son again.

And her son was going to be free.

 

*****

 

**9.**

I saw these pictures posted as a photoset, and I was hit with all the Sidhe feelings, because of  _course_ The Sidhe is my headcanon for Klaine - that’s entirely why I wrote it.  I’ve always felt like what holds them together is so much stronger and bigger than your typical high school friendship/romance, and even though I’ve watched this episode a million times and thought about this scene about a million times more than that, seeing these stills just _got_ me.

This is the moment before he sees.  His eyes are still a bit dull - in every incarnation since he was last with Kurt (since this is my headcanon I will tell you that there have been three - this is the fourth without Kurt - so far, anyway) his eyes have lacked their trademark sparkle.  He has had moments - years, even, of  _contentment_  in these lifetimes, but no real happiness.  No real fulfillment.  But there is something in that voice.  Something in that “excuse me” that stirs something in him.  He convinces himself that he is just being polite (because no one can accuse Blaine of having bad manners), that it’s an unusual voice, that there isn’t anything  _more_ to it than that.

And now he sees.  But it has been so long that even his very soul can’t quite believe it - can’t dare to actually accept that the time has actually come, that his life won’t have to carry an essence of loneliness and longing this time around.  But even in his doubt, a light flickers into being behind his eyes.  Even in his doubt, a tentative thread of hope unfurls and inspires his soul to look closer and deeper because maybe, just  _maybe…_

__

…It’s  _him._   And then it becomes clear on a deep level even though it won’t become clear for Blaine consciously for several months.   _He’s here.  He’s really here.  It isn’t just someone that reminds me of him or someone almost as perfect for me as him, this is **him.**   He’s really here._   And even though he can’t believe it, he  _has_  to believe it.  He has no choice, because this is absolutely, irrefutably, objectively  _his_  Kurt.  His soul is surging desperately toward Kurt, absolutely  _thrumming_  with recognition, wanting nothing more to melt into him with both his very essence and his mortal flesh, trying fruitlessly to claw its way to the surface of Blaine’s conscious mind.

And then he settles into it.  And even though this Blaine - teenage Blaine Anderson in Westerville, Ohio in 2011 on planet Earth - is too burdened with insecurities and desires and thoughts and feelings that he barely understands even when they don’t terrify the hell out of him, deep down something settles.  Blaine doesn’t recognize it yet - tonight when he goes home he’ll think about the boy he met today and he’ll briefly wonder why thinking about him just makes Blaine  _feel_  in such an overwhelming way, but he’ll figure that seeing Kurt in such despair just brought up a lot of his own issues, and helping Kurt was the right thing to do and it makes Blaine feel good about himself, and besides - Kurt seemed like a sweet, funny guy, and it would be great to have another friend, especially someone he could relate to in so many ways.  And sure, Kurt’s gorgeous, but Blaine’s kind-of-maybe got something going with Jeremiah, and it’s not like he doesn’t see good-looking guys every day, right? 

And Blaine will decide that he’s satisfied with his own explanation for why he’s feeling so weird, and then he’ll go to bed and he won’t remember his dreams when he wakes up except he feels like his dream kind of reminded him of Lord of the Rings or something - he’s got Legolas on the brain anyway, which is weird because he hasn’t watched that movie in  _forever_  but now he kind of wants to because he can’t even explain to himself why he’s always found Orlando Bloom to be so particularly hot when he’s playing an elf.

And for some strange reason the dream makes him think of that kid he met yesterday, like somehow there’s a connection even though that obviously doesn’t make sense, and he’ll go to school and at some point during the day, he’ll text Kurt just to say  _Courage,_  because he just can’t stop thinking about him. 

And his soul will keep nudging at him, prodding him toward Kurt, digging its way through his subconscious, battling all the roadblocks and excuses that Blaine throws in its way, and even though it is desperate to finally be with its mate again it is also patient.  Because Blaine’s very soul knows with absolute certainty that Blaine Anderson has been in love with Kurt Hummel since long before either one of them was born, and Blaine’s very soul knows that it’s only a matter of time before Blaine Anderson knows it too.

 

*****

 

**10\. Sidhe holiday drabble**

 

The night air hung humid and sultry around them, the sweet notes of the music from the festival drifting past them on the breeze.

Blaine was drunk on all of it; the ambrosia they had sipped from flower cups, yes, but also on the pulse of the night itself – the music and the dancing and the food and the games and the merriment. The fact that the sky was full of racing, shimmering tiny blue lights lent a surreal quality to it all, and the spring air was thick with the heady scent of blossoms.

The holiday itself lasted ten days – the exact duration of pixie mating season, to be precise. As the little creatures went into heat, their bodies began to emit a bright blue glow to signal their fertility. The week that followed was restless, the air thick with them as they spun together and lit up the sky.

When translated, the holiday was simply “The Time of the Pixie Dance,” and it was a time of year to honor pixies and welcome the spring (and, Kurt had told him, to indulge in hedonistic pleasures. It seemed to Blaine that indulgence in hedonistic pleasures was a fact of everyday life for the Sidhe, so he couldn’t imagine what such a thing might entail. He got goosebumps merely imagining it).

They left offerings for the pixies throughout their garden every day, different offerings each day that Kurt explained to him as they laid them out: “Olive leaves brushed with flaqia oil for the fourth day; it is a combination prized by pixies though they have no means of procuring the oil themselves. It is also an aphrodisiac.”

 _As if the creatures needed an aphrodisiac,_  Blaine thought, as a pair landed on his shoulder and continued to mate, seemingly oblivious to his existence.

On the ninth night was the festival – and endless night of celebration that Kurt insisted they spend in Cloudlen. “I’m sure Khryslee’s festival is lovely,” he had said, “but to have a truly authentic experience we have to visit the Queendoms.”

Kurt had been right. The dancing had been unlike anything Blaine had seen before – sensual and intensely physical, with bare feet and minimal clothing, while the music – played upon instruments that produced sounds so lovely and haunting he could barely stand it – seemed to pull them in to a near-trancelike state as soon as they allowed themselves to move to it.

He and Kurt had fed one another candied flower petals and sipped ambrosia, they had danced together until the world fell away, until it was just their bodies moving together, not quite sexual but steeped in yearning.

It was very late when Kurt pulled him away from the festivities, pulled him into the trees to what would have been a dark and secluded spot had the sky not been lit with pixies.

Life in Faerie country had stripped Blaine of his Villaluan notions of modesty, however, and it did not matter that they could be seen by anyone that passed. Kurt fell back upon a bed of moss, his skin glistening with perspiration from the dancing and his body clad in only a loincloth. He looked utterly debauched and decadent, like the very personification of hedonistic pleasure itself.

As Kurt pulled Blaine on top of him, their skin sliding together as their lips met beneath the glow of the pixie-filled sky, Blaine could not help but think that no Villaluan holiday could ever come close to  _this._

_*****_

**11\. (Another) exerptfrom a textbook in the Library of Sidhe Culture in Khryslee:**

 

 _Of the elfin races, 6 are known: Sidhe, Sprites, Humans, Nymphs, Pixies, and Elementals. Most of these species can be further sub-categorized; Sprites can manifest as Leprechauns, Redcaps and Seccubi, as well as at least a dozen other varieties (see _Manifestations of Sprites_  for more information),  while elementals fall into four precise categories: Sylph, Selkie, Gnome and Salamander.  
  
It is not know where in the cosmos the races first appeared; it is entirely possible that there is not one single world of origin that can be identified.  Several studies, however, indicate that all those of elfin ancestry did in fact originate at one point in the universal continuum, and spread forth as interdimensional travel was discovered and learned (see  _Origins of the Species_  for more on this hypothesis).  
  
In our own world, such travel is understood to a very limited degree.  It is believed that such travel is far better understood in older and more advanced worlds.  
  
One can look to the myth of the Great Mother to support this notion.  She is depicted as traversing worlds to escape her circumstances, finding this one empty of complex life and optimal for survival of the elfin races.  
  
The last documented instance of a traveler from this world traversing the void and returning to speak of it was Gifiraea of the Northern River Valley, nearly five hundred years ago.  In her account, she states firmly that there are other intelligent races that do not appear to be elfin in variety.  She did, however, encounter elfin peoples in other worlds.  Even amongst such worlds, however, her personhood was often not recognized, some containing only one elfin species and unable to resolve the difference in her appearance and disposition.  
  
See also  _ **The Diaries of Gifiraea**_ and _ **Origins of the** **Species**.

 

*****

 

**12.**

At first Blaine thought Kurt was just having one of his slow-to-wake-up mornings. When Kurt was still in bed by nearly midday, however, he began to grow concerned.

Kurt was sweating and twisted up in the sheets. When Blaine felt his forehead with his wrist, he was hot and clammy. He opened his eyes and groaned at the contact.

“Kurt? Sweetheart?”

“Mmsleep,” Kurt muttered, his glassy eyes seeming to almost look straight through Blaine.

“Are you all right?”

“Blaine?” Kurt looked up at him, his face wan and drained. “Oh gods, Blaine, I’m gonna-”

Blaine barely got the wastebasket to Kurt in time for him to empty the contents of his stomach.

He tried not to panic. Kurt was sick, that was all - Sidhe got sick, didn’t they? In twelve years, Blaine had never once seen Kurt in anything other than perfect health, but that didn’t mean there was any reason to panic.

He abruptly dropped the cloth that he was running under cold water to lay across Kurt’s forehead when he heard a loud bang coming from up the stairs.

Kurt was naked and on his hands and knees, trying to crawl down the staircase.

“Kurt? Sweetie, what are you doing? If you need anything-”

“Got to go outside,” Kurt mumbled.

“Oh! Do you need the latrine?”

Kurt shook his head and gave a frustrated whimper. “I just…I need to go  _outside,_  Blaine,” he said, as if what he was saying was perfectly clear and Blaine was simply refusing to understand.

Blaine helped Kurt to his feet and tried to convince him to go back to bed (it was raining out, after all, and not exactly a warm day to begin with), but it became clear that Kurt was absolutely determined to go outdoors, so Blaine finally relented, unsure of what else to do.

Once outside, Kurt abruptly stumbled forward and collapsed on the wet grass with a sigh. Rain poured down upon him, and he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

Blaine stared at him and finally allowed the dread he had been fighting to wash over him.

He had absolutely no idea what to do.

Their nearest neighbors were an elderly pair of human men, which meant they were unlikely to be of much help.

But. Maybe they could at least keep an eye on things. Maybe…

Blaine’s mind raced. He had to figure this out. He had to be able to take care of Kurt the way that Kurt always took care of him. He simply  _had_ to.

Blaine carefully lifted Kurt from the ground, wincing at the pitiful whine of protest it elicited from his husband.

“Shhhh. Sweetie, you’re sick. You can’t lie outside in the rain. I’m going to bring you upstairs and Adin and Rynn are going to come look after you, all right?”

Kurt fussed like a miserable child, but allowed himself to be carried up to bed and rubbed dry and tucked beneath the blankets.

Once Adin and Rynn had agreed to watch Kurt, Blaine saddled up his favorite horse, Cholia, and sped through the rain to the closest healer.

****~000~**  
**

Her name was Terl, and she was one of the oldest Sidhe Blaine had ever seen. Blaine had never had occasion to visit her before - Kurt took care of what healing he needed - but he had remembered where she made her home just in case.

Blaine pounded on the door, forgetting decorum entirely. The ride over had given him nothing but time to think, and nothing he had come up with gave him any comfort.

Kurt was a Spiral Sidhe. A healer. If he was sick, surely it was something terrible. Possibly even something incurable.

Terl took a long time to get to the door, and when she opened it she eyed Blaine critically for a moment, allowing him to continue getting pelted with rain before inviting him in.

“I need help,” Blaine blurted. “It’s my husband, he  _never_ gets sick, and I’ve never seen him like this before, and he  _can’t_ die, we’re supposed to have four hundred years, and it’s only been twelve, and I can’t lose him, I’ll die before I lose him - can I give my life to heal him? Does it work that way? Please help me, I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anyth-”

“Come in and have a cup of tea,” Terl said calmly.

Blaine fidgeted as she prepared the tea - it smelled like a type that Kurt liked to make in the afternoons, and Blaine couldn’t bear  _anything._

“Please,” he whimpered softly.

She gestured for him to sit down at the round wooden table inlaid with smooth stones in her little kitchen.

“Your husband,” she said, sitting down across from Blaine and handing him his tea. “He is a Sidhe, I assume.”

Blaine nodded.

“And what are his symptoms precisely?”

“He…he’s all hot and his skin is clammy and he’s thrown up at least twice. He can barely speak or…or  _walk_ , and he’s always pale but he looks so pale right now that it’s kind of frightening. And his eyes - it’s like they’re - well, not  _lifeless,_ but nothing like how they usually look. I just…”

Terl nodded. “And what is his range of power?” She asked.

“Spiral,” Blaine whispered, and he could  _feel_ his own eyes widening in fear.

“Aah, the ambassador,” she murmured. Blaine nodded again.

“Well, first things first, my dear. He is going to be all right. It sounds like he just caught a nasty case of scarlet pox.”

“Scarlet pox sounds bad,” Blaine whispered.

Terl laughed gently and placed a warm, crinkled hand on top of Blaine’s. “I assure you it really isn’t. He won’t even need my personal attentions. I’m going to make you some tea to bring him; don’t strain the leaves. Get him to eat as many of them as he’s willing to after he drinks the liquid. While you’re boiling the water, you’re going to want to strip him and get him outside.” Terl stood up and walked over to a wall of shelves filled with jars of herbs.

Blaine stared at her. “Outside?” he asked weakly. Terl nodded.

“But…it’s raining. It’s  _cold_ out.” Blaine shivered involuntarily to illustrate the point. In his panic he had almost forgotten that he was soaking wet.

“Your husband is a  _Sidhe,_ dear, it’s different for us,” Terl explained as she began to pull a seemingly random assortment of jars off the shelves. “We need to be in direct contact with the earth to heal properly, and so much the better that it’s raining, especially since he’s Spiral.”

“Oh gods,” Blaine muttered, horrified. “He…he went outside. He tried to lie in the grass but I…I made him go back to bed. Oh  _gods!_ What if he never heals properly? I should have listened to him! I’m the worst husband that ever lived.” Blaine sank his head down into his hands.

Terl actually chuckled. “Young love,” she murmured, as she began adding herbs to a small cloth bag. “Dearest, he is going to be fine, truly. Just bring him outside once you get home, and leave him there as long as he wants to stay. Don’t worry about the cold. Give him a cup of this every few hours, and don’t forget to encourage him to eat some of the leaves.” Terl reached a hand into the cloth bag and vigorously mixed the herbs she’d placed there. “Have you something to get this home safely in?”

Blaine nodded and pulled a weatherproof pouch out of an inside jacket pocket. He took the bag and placed it in the pouch.

“If he isn’t quite a bit better by sunrise tomorrow, come back and bring him along and I’ll give him a nice, cleansing heal all right?” Terl said, smiling. Blaine nodded gratefully.

“Thank you. Thank you  _so much._ ” He paid the elder far more than she ever would have asked for, and wrapped her up in a firm hug.

“All right, then,” she said, giving him a gentle squeeze back. “Get back to your mate. He’ll be waiting for you.”

****~000~**  
**

When Blaine arrived home, Kurt was lying naked on the lawn. Rynn and Adin stood in the little sheltered area with the fire pit just outside the kitchen, looking worried.

“Blaine, we  _tried_ to get him inside, but he wouldn’t go, and Adin has that trick hip so we didn’t want to risk trying to lift him-” Rynn began as soon as Blaine came into view.

“No, it’s all right. Apparently this is a Sidhe thing. It helps them heal.”

Adin raised an eyebrow. “Just when I thought I’d heard it all,” he murmured.

Blaine thanked them and invited them to stay until the storm had passed, but the two men waved him off once he assured them that he didn't need any more help. Blaine watched them walk home in their raincoats, arm in arm, and couldn't help but smile.

The first thing Blaine did was walk over to Kurt and crouch down, pressing his wet lips to Kurt’s wet forehead. Kurt murmured slightly but didn’t truly stir. The second thing Blaine did was to put the kettle on for Kurt’s tea. After that he finally went inside and shed his sodden clothes, changing into a thick, warm robe.

For the first few hours, Blaine just watched Kurt from the shelter outside the kitchen, stripping himself of his robe when he brought Kurt his tea even though the cold rain made his bare skin prickle - it seemed more practical than soaking his robe over and over again, though. Once night had fallen, however, Blaine was faced with the prospect of sleeping alone in their bed (something he had to do far too often when Kurt was travelling for work as it was) while Kurt lay in the rain and suffered.

Blaine pulled his robe off and brought Kurt his tea, but after he had swallowed every drop and chewed a few of the leaves, Blaine stayed with him. He wrapped his arms around Kurt and nestled close, the ever-present warmth of Kurt’s body making the shivers still wracking his own body so very, very worth it.

Blaine stayed with him all night, only arising once to make more tea. The rain finally drizzled to a stop, but by then both men were fast asleep, huddled together on the wet grass.

Kurt was the first to awake when the sky began to lighten. He was groggy and didn’t feel fantastic by any means, but he did feel enormously better. He remembered bits and pieces of the night before; Blaine feeding him tea and leaves and murmuring sweet words and giving him cool, wet kisses and finally curling himself around Kurt so he wouldn’t have to wake up alone.

Kurt touched Blaine’s shoulder, aware of how cold the other man must be. “Blaine,” he whispered. Blaine mumbled something and snuggled closer. Kurt laughed softly. “Blaine,” he repeated. Blaine opened his eyes and stared at Kurt.

“You’re better.” Blaine’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Well, not completely, but thanks to you I’m nearly there.” Kurt kissed his lips softly.

“I…I made you go back inside, Kurt, I didn’t-”

“You were wonderful,” Kurt interrupted. “And now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

“Really?” Blaine asked, his eyes shining. Kurt pressed their foreheads together and whispered “of course.”

“Thank the gods,” Blaine answered, pulling back from Kurt to sneeze mightily into the crook of his own elbow. “Because I think I came down with a cold last night.”

 

*****

 

**13.**

The young Sidhe woman at the market was trying Blaine’s patience.

“Are you sure this was aged at least nine months?”

“Yes,” Blaine replied for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Hmmmm. And you really can’t bring the price down anymore? Because the human at that cheese stall over there has wheels that look just as good for almost half the price.”

“If you want to buy your wares from Leila, than be my guest. She makes fine cheeses, but as I’m sure even she would tell you, they are of a lower grade than- ”

“I mean,  _I_ don’t really care. I never eat the stuff myself,” she continued.

“I imagine not,” Blaine responded.

“I mean, I never really understood the human desire to  _enslave_ animals and keep them in false lactation and steal their milk away-”

“Madam, forgive me for interrupting, but no one is forcing you to buy cheese. If it bothers you, perhaps the human foods stalls aren’t your best choice.” Blaine was clinging to the very edge of polite.

“I don’t look down on humans,” she said quickly. “I’ll have you know I have two human fathers. I just don’t see why-”

“Madam, if you’re not sure of your purchase, perhaps you could step aside and take some time to consider so that those waiting patiently behind you-”

“I’m only here for my dads.  They say your cheeses are the best.”

“I like to think so,” Blaine said, giving a sympathetic look to the growing line of impatient shoppers behind her, trying to convey his apology for what was happening with his eyes.

“All right, princess, you buying are aren’t you?” Blaine looked over to see Sanya coming up beside him with a crate of bottled milk, two of her farmhands close behind.

The woman looked offended. She tossed her long brown hair. “I’m trying to decide what to buy, and I’m surprised that you would turn away a paying customer. It’s just that if your prices weren’t so high-”

“We’d love your business but we can live without it,” Sanya said bluntly. “Now some of these nice people have been waiting for a fair while, I imagine, because my assistant is too polite to tell you to move it or lose it.”

The woman looked at them with blazing eyes. Something was clearly building behind them and Blaine suddenly wasn’t so sure that Sanya’s approach was the best of ideas.

“Knock it off,” Sanya said in a bored voice while the two farmhands began helping the other customers. “This man’s husband is Spiral. You so much as knock a curl on prettyboy’s head out of place and you’ll be wondering how it’s possible to simultaneously drown and burn to death.”

The Sidhe blanched. “Fifteen seconds,” Sanya said coolly. “Buy something or leave.”

“Fine,” the woman hissed. “I’ll take one of those creamy ones with the white rind, one of those hard, flaky ones and a portion of the aged goat cheese. And I suppose a couple bottles of milk too.”

“Attagirl,” Sanya said with a smile. The Sidhe gathered her wares and paid, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very items she was buying as she picked them up and turned to leave.

“Um, Sanya.” Blaine glanced at her sidelong.

“Hmmm?”

“Maybe, ah – I could stick to making cheese and bottling milk and transporting wares to market and you can handle the customer service end of things?”

Sanya leaned back against the table where Blaine had set the cashbox and considered. “I don’t know, Blaine. It really impresses my wife when I lift the milk crates.” She flexed a muscle. Blaine rolled his eyes. “Besides, I think it’s good for you. You’re too timid with people sometimes.”

Blaine was incredulous.  _“Timid?_ Do you have any idea what I-”

“Oh, god. Is this going to be another recap of the great escape from Villalu? First of all, it’s nowhere near my naptime. Second, you aren’t exactly the only person to have done that.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “You rescued Brit from  _slavery,_ did you? Because according to her-”

“You’re changing the subject,” Sanya said, her voice placating and condescending. Blaine simply gaped at her. “I’ll try to handle the business end of things more, but I can’t always be here between three fifteen and three thirty-five on the third market day every week.”

Blaine narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You  _knew_ she was going to be here! Sanya, that woman is a  _nightmare.”_ Sanya gave him a look of exaggerated innocent confusion. Blaine scowled at her, and she simply let her eyes go wider in response.

Before long, Sanya had dropped the act and was earnestly laughing.

“It’s kind of an initiation,” said Grii, one of the farmhands. “She makes everyone deal with Miss  _'I have two human fathers so I have free license to be a harpy'_  on their first week at market.”

“No one’s managed to hold it together as long as you,” added Bura, the other farmhand. “It looked like some of those customers were ready to  _murder_ you. I was all for seeing how long you could go before you lost it, but Sanya was afraid the milk would get too warm.”

Blaine alternated his incredulous stare between the three of them. “How long were you all just standing there and watching me suffer?”

Sanya smiled and punched his arm. “Welcome to the Market, prettyboy.”

 

*****

 

 **14.** (tw: some thoughts of suicide in this one, also some dark themes familiar from the fic)

 

**~000~**

 

Kurt curled up on the plush carriage seat and chewed his lip.

He had just risked everything for the man driving the carriage. A man with no discernible goal except to free Kurt from his most recent owner.

Kurt had been pretty sure, even after only a week, that Dronyen would be his last owner. But he had not thought freedom was an option.

Except, of course, the freedom provided by death.

The man driving the carriage was strange. He was small and nervous and beautiful and his eyes were far too intense. He had allowed Kurt to bathe in warm water for the first time in years, and he had brought Kurt fresh honeysuckle so that he wasn’t forced to eat flesh.

He said he wanted nothing more than to help Kurt.

But.

Kurt had spent enough time with enough human men to fear that they really were all the same. Sree would be so  _smug,_ Kurt thought, if she knew he were contemplating such things.

And then thinking of Sree made him think of Firae. And thinking of Firae made him cry. He didn’t try to stop himself; there was, after all, no one to punish him for his tears.

He wondered if Firae would even want him anymore after all that had been done to his body over the past five years. He wondered if he would be welcomed back with open arms or shunned, sent to try and live in the border towns and not get captured and sold once again.

He wondered if Blaine really was going to bring him to Faerie country.

Kurt recalled the previous night. Dronyen had tried to make him cry, but Kurt had refused; he would be saving his tears for his cell. His tears were his own. They were something that Dronyen couldn’t take from him.

Dronyen had choked him, kicked him, even pushed Kurt half off his balcony, holding him there; naked and upside down, with the cold stone railing digging into the small of his back, Kurt had wondered if it would really be so bad if Dronyen simply let go. If his last memory in this life were of falling, naked and free, without the feel of rough, greedy hands all over his skin.

Dronyen had not, however, let go. He had pulled Kurt back onto the balcony and whispered to him that he would  _never_ let him die,  _never_ give him up. “You’re going to be passed down like a fucking family heirloom,” Dronyen had whispered later after he was finally finished with Kurt, lacing up his trousers with a look of lazy satisfaction while Kurt lay curled in a ball, eyes wide, every fiber of his being concentrated on not letting himself cry.

“I  _will_ break you, elf, and the sons my wife will bear will break you even more, and their sons will find new ways to destroy you, but we will never, ever let you die.”

Kurt would have given anything to prove Dronyen wrong that very night.  For death, at that moment, sounded like the very richest of luxuries.

But then there was Blaine.

Kurt couldn’t help but actually look forward to seeing him arrive at his cell each day. He couldn’t help but instinctively half-trust him, though he knew he absolutely shouldn’t. Human men had been friendly to Kurt before, but in the end they all used Kurt for their pleasure, whatever that pleasure may be.

Kurt wondered what Blaine’s pleasure might be. A cold jolt of fear raced up his spine at the mere thought.

He was alone with this man. Blaine could be taking him anywhere. Kurt was muzzled by verbena, sluggish and nauseous from being forced to eat animal products for so long (though less so than usual, thanks to Blaine), sore and bruised from Dronyen’s mistreatment, and utterly vulnerable.

Honestly, Kurt blamed it on that stupid dream.

The dream that had started the very night Blaine had first spoken to him, though Kurt had refused to respond. The dream in which Kurt is surrounded by a comfortable presence, warm and safe and  _home_ in a way no person or place had ever been for him before. And by the end of the dream, the presence had always solidified just enough – wide hazel eyes and plump red lips and a strong jaw – for him to recognize it as Blaine.

He knew it was probably because Blaine was the only person to offer him any sort of kindness in a very long time. He knew it had to be less about Blaine himself and more about what Blaine represented in Kurt’s current situation. He knew that he couldn’t trust Blaine, because he didn’t  _know_ Blaine. Because Blaine worked for the man who had managed to come closer to breaking Kurt in a single week than other men had come in the space of years. Because Blaine was  _one of them,_ and whatever he wanted from Kurt would inevitably be something he took rather than anything that was offered.

Because Kurt couldn’t trust him. And the longer he stayed with Blaine, the more he risked his tentative grasp on freedom.

When the carriage finally came to a stop, Kurt climbed out cautiously after several minutes when Blaine didn’t open the door for him.

Blaine was slumped unconscious on the ground. Utterly vulnerable. Even more vulnerable than Kurt. 

There was nothing stopping Kurt from leaving him there with or without the carriage. And, more importantly, there was really no reason to stay.

Except…

Well. He would be safer traveling with Blaine,  _if_ Blaine could be trusted. And Blaine did free him from Dronyen’s possession.

Perhaps what Blaine really did want was to help him. To free him.

What if Blaine were telling the truth?

In the end, Kurt wasn’t sure if he was making the right decision. He wasn’t sure if his choice to gently knead Blaine’s muscles so that they would hurt less when he awoke, to wrap Blaine in a blanket and make food that both of them could enjoy, to feed and brush the horses and set up the tent, were the right things to do.

But Kurt was tired. Too tired to ignore the seductive inner voice that told him to trust Blaine. That he was safe with Blaine. That he was  _free_ with Blaine.

So Kurt stayed.

And the next morning, when he awoke feeling calm and rested for the first time in years, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he had made the right decision.

 

*****

 

**15\. Firash wedding drabble**

 

The wedding was absolutely resplendent, and despite the controversy (who ever heard of a Queendom lead by not one but  _two_ kings? Who ever heard of a pardoned criminal taking the throne? A pardoned criminal of the  _common caste,_ no less?), it seemed as if the entire population of the Eastern Border Lands was in attendance. There were also some royals from neighboring Queendoms; Chuya of the Lower Midlands was boycotting the ceremony on principle, as was Lapha of the Western Isles. But Seche of the Upper Midlands was present, as was Yiri of the Western Sea Lands and Calla of the Northern Mountain Range. The royals wore their best and most impressive robes, a veritable wall of purple and orange and silver and blue ringing the small, grassy hill in the middle of a little valley with a single plum tree at its crest. Behind this inner circle, spanning in every direction, were thousands upon thousands of Sidhe.

The hill was simple and lovely, a lone priestess already waiting under the shade of the plum tree. Before this day, it had just been a hill. A hill that overlooked the Great Hall and most of downtown Cloudlen. A hill enjoyed by lovers under the moonlight and energetic children running beneath the sun, lips and fingers sticky with plum juice.

But on this day, the hill would be forever changed. This was the hill upon which those of the common caste would witness their king taking a man like one of them as their lifemate. A man that would also become their king.

Tash had never thought he’d be accepted as their other king, let alone  _adored_. The adoration had its limits, it was true - especially when it came to those with real political power - but by and large Tash had turned out to be a startlingly popular figure. The  _people_ liked him, even if many Queens and Priestesses and governing councils made it clear that they did not. On one occasion, a small boy had tugged on his arm as he and Firae passed by. The boy was clearly of the Common caste, as were his parents. “My mom says I can grow up to be a king like you someday,” the boy had said, eyes round and wide and full of incredulous hope. Neither Tash nor Firae had been able to suppress their smiles.

Across the sea of attendees on their wedding day, however, their smiles were tight and nervous at best.

Kurt was fussing with Firae’s ensemble, tightening his toga and adjusting the blossom-covered vines wrapped around his arms. Firae gave him complete control; he had known what choosing Kurt as a groom’s assistant (much to Sree’s unabashed rage) would entail.

“I think you’re ready,” Kurt finally said softly, looking up at Firae.

Both men had tears in their eyes.

It was hard to believe that, only ten years prior, these two men had been discussing their own marriage. That eight years ago, Firae had refused to attend Kurt’s wedding because he couldn’t bear to see him marry another man. And that, more recently than he would ever admit out loud, Firae had harbored a very real desire to murder Kurt’s husband.

Neither of them had ever thought they would end up like this; colleagues, best friends, two men with the unbreakable bond of shared history.

“Thank you, Kurt,” Firae said quietly as he stood before the mirror. Kurt had made him look absolutely incredible. As if there had ever been any doubt.

Firae remained in his chamber, studying himself from different angles (he didn’t want Tash’s eyes to leave him for a  _single second_  once they were finally together), while Kurt climbed to the roof of the Hall to signal Blaine.

Blaine saw the signal from the upper balcony of the tree house inn, across the little valley with the grassy hill.

“They’re ready,” he said, walking back into the suite Tash had been staying in in the days leading up to the ceremony.

Tash took a deep breath and surveyed himself in the mirror.

It was hard to believe that, only ten years prior, Tash and Blaine had been in a room at an inn together under decidedly different circumstances. That Tash had once been Blaine’s enemy, and Tash had not considered Blaine enough of a person to even  _be_ an enemy.

No one other than Kurt, Blaine and Firae knew why Tash flinched every time someone referred to him as  _Milord._  It was a title used with unfortunate frequency by far too many people throughout his courtship with Firae. The term had never stopped stinging, making old disgust and self-hatred rear up and confront him.

But after today he would never have to wear that title again. After today he would be  _your majesty._ Tash smiled at the thought.

“Is this hanging right?” Tash asked nervously, tugging at his toga. Blaine studied him and nodded. Kurt had absolutely insisted that Blaine learn how to be a proper groom’s assistant when Tash had shyly asked him. The toga fit perfectly, exposing one broad, muscled shoulder, draping around the shape of his narrow waist. Even Tash, as self-depricating as he could be, had to admit that he looked good.

Blaine finished adorning him with flowers before heading to the stable to fetch Tash’s grimchin.

“You look wonderful, Tash,” he said with a smile, pausing at the door before making his way down the stairs.

It was a day the history books would get right in some respects and wrong in others. But no one would disagree that it was a turning point in history, more so than either king could ever have imagined.

On that day, a king and a king-to-be rode into a little valley on the backs of grimchins, landing on opposite sides of a small, grassy hill with a single plum tree at the crest. They met beneath the tree and said their vows and shed their tears, and then, before leaving the hill to get their tattoos, The new king put his hand on his husband’s arm. A friend had told him of a human custom that sounded so lovely, he hadn’t been able to put it aside.

He leaned in and kissed his husband, and the assembled crowd exploded with emotion.

The two kings would have been frankly shocked to know how far the story of that kiss traveled in the end. It was slow and tender and passionate and delicate all at once, and they cradled one another in a tangle of arms and let it last for a long,  _long_  time.

And for many of those assembled, it was the first time they realized that this really wasn’t some political stunt. It wasn’t about rebellion or proving a point about castes or shedding light on the harm done by the Noninterference Doctrine.

It was simply about love.

 

******

 

**16\. The First Incarnation**

 

Things like this happen sometimes.

The question of what makes the gods decide what they decide remains a question. Even those who attain enlightenment don’t know; their concerns are with truths deeper even than what the gods can conceive - the nature of existence, of the gods themselves.

But for whatever reason, those beings assigned to live lives are expected to do exactly that.  To have experiences, to suffer and celebrate and love and scream and sing.  Some believe that it is because the gods cannot have such experiences themselves, and perhaps it is true.  Perhaps the living are no more than mere entertainment.  Perhaps they are vehicles, to help the gods to truly understand. Perhaps there is far more or far less to it than that.

Those souls designated for physical life are flawed; it seems to be the one common factor amongst them.  They are flawed and incomplete and searching.

Always searching.

But.  Things like this happen sometimes.

Sometimes a particular soul does not seek the passageways into the physical worlds.

Sometimes, rarely, a soul is so content that it chooses not to seek, chooses instead to simply  _be._

And in such instances it is easy to think of the gods as truly cruel.

The soul screams as it is sliced down the middle; forcibly carved into two separate beings when it knows, it  _knows_ that its true nature is to be only one.

The halves are wrenched apart, are hurled by the gods into the living worlds, made to endure life after life without one another, until they are capable of existing as something autonomous, until they finally forget what they truly are.

And only then are they allowed to find one another again.  And once they find one another, they never stop trying to put themselves back together.  Trying, once again, to exist as the single entity that they truly are.

The first time Kurt and Blaine find one another in the living world, they are birds.  

They live in an unspoiled world, lush with brightly colored trees and clear streams and salty oceans jumping with fish.  Predators are few, and there is plenty to eat.

And yet this one soul in two bodies, this one soul that believes itself to be two, is despondent.  Aching.  Searching.

One of the birds is pure white, his plumage edged in blue, green, and vivid silver.  He is lithe and delicate and far stronger than he looks.  

He takes his place in the formation, enjoying the flight only as much as one so desperately, bewilderingly lonely can enjoy anything.  

Even the wind on his feathers doesn’t make him feel free.

The flock stops to rest for the night, and the white bird tucks his head into his wing and sleeps.  He awakes to indignant squawking - a bird from a different flock has tried to join their tree, and as the white bird looks at him he is shocked by the jolt of… _something_ that he feels from his crest to his talons.

The others chase the intruder away, but not before his eyes lock with those of the white bird with the silver-tipped feathers.

The white bird does not find sleep again that night.

The next morning, the white bird forages for food.  He has strayed from the flock a bit, and is nearly startled into flight when a dark figure descends beside him.

When he sees who it is, he settles his wings and simply stares.  Before him, with a fruit-laden branch in his mouth, is the bird from the night before.  This bird is smaller than the white one, black feathers shot through with streaks of red and dark blue.

The branch in his mouth - nearly too big for him to carry - is laden with tiny purple berries, and the black bird sets it down at the larger bird’s feet, cocking his head to the side expectantly.

The white bird plucks a berry from the branch with his beak, and is surprised by how sweet and delicate and delicious it is.  The smaller bird nuzzles against him, and the white bird suddenly finds himself feeling something utterly  _new._   With that small bit of physical contact, it is as if something cold and hard is melting inside him.  As if some long-stifled part of him has broken free from its restraints.

And suddenly, he wants nothing more than to fly until his wings are too sore to move.

The two birds finish the berries and then take to the air; swooping past one another, chasing each other playfully, diving and gliding, the tips of their feathers occasionally brushing together.  They are overtaken with pure joy.

That night they don’t sleep with either flock.  They sleep tucked together; black and white, light and dark, finally healing the damage that was done to their one true soul.

 

*****

 

**17\. Firash Family Drabble**

 

Kali stormed into the family room, her caramel eyes nearly black with anger.    
  
“Would you like to hear what  _your_ daughter got up to at school today?” Tash asked from behind her.  
  
Firae looked up at them with weary eyes from where he was slowly rocking one of the twins.    
  
“ _My_ daughter?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Where’s Runa?” Tash asked, looking around the nearly decimated room.  Gira and Tochi were playing quietly in the corner, Rav had already attached himself to Tash’s legs, and the twin not in Firae’s arms (Viri, Tash realized with satisfaction.  He was getting better at this) was sleeping in her bassinet.  
  
“I sent him home,” Firae replied, exhaustion actually seeming to leak from his voice.  “I wanted to…” Firae sighed, rubbed his temple.  “I wanted to do it myself.”  
  
Tash’s face softened.  Firae never felt like they spent enough time with the children, and Tash should have seen this coming when Tochi - still a toddler - had called Runa “daddy” only a few days earlier.  Firae’s face had absolutely  _fallen_ , and Tash had had a very hard time reassuring him that this sort of thing happened - that it was likely Tochi simply believed he had three fathers rather than two - and that Firae  _wasn’t_  a stranger to his own children.  
  
Out of the corner of the eye, Tash saw Kali edging toward the door.  
  
“Not so fast,” he said sharply, turning to her.  “Tell your father what happened today.”  
  
“I got into a fight.  Can I go now?”  Tash was slightly unnerved by how much she sounded like Puck in that moment.  
  
“No,” said Tash firmly, taking Riij from Firae’s arms.  
  
“What happened?” Firae asked, sounding more interested than concerned.  Tash caught his eye and gave him a meaningful look. “You know fighting is an affront to the Great Mother,” he added hastily.  Tash rolled his eyes fondly.  Firae tended to have far too much sympathy for their eldest daughter’s violent streak.  
  
“It was Ralt.  She was…she said her mothers were… _saying_ things.”  
  
“Things?” Firae prompted.  
  
She looked him in the eye.  “About…you guys.”  
  
Firae sighed.  His cousin Shira and her wife Erie, Ralt’s mothers, would have been next in line to take the throne had Firae not taken a husband. Or had Gira not named Firae her heir in the first place.  
  
“What did they say?”  
  
“I don’t…” she looked nervously back and forth between her fathers.  “I don’t want you to execute them.”  
  
Firae stared at her.  “Darling, wherever did you get the idea that we would  _execute_ someone just for criticizing us?”  
  
Kali looked at the floor.  “Ralt said…”  
  
“We won’t punish anyone for merely criticizing us, Kali.  But getting into fights with your classmates-”  
  
“-isn’t behavior befitting a future Queen,” she cut Firae off irritably.  “I  _know_.  But she said I’d be lucky if there was even a Queendom left by the time I’m Queen.  She said her moms said if we’re going to let a hotheaded boy and a common criminal run the Queendom, we’re not far off from allowing  _grimchins_ to rule us next.”  
  
Tash winced.   _Ouch._   Perhaps there would be no punishment doled out, but it was entirely possible that Shira and Erie’s invitations to the next royal ball would mysteriously go missing.  
  
In fact, Tash would see to it personally.  
  
Firae held his arms out, and though she was getting a little big for this, Kali climbed into his lap without hesitation.  “Darling,” he murmured softly, “I know it hurts to hear your friends say things like that about your family.”  
  
“Ralt is  _not_ my friend,” Kali insisted.  
  
Tash smiled, placing Riij gently in her bassinet and picking Viri up from the bassinet beside her, where she had begun to fuss.  He decided to give Firae and Kali a bit of space; Tash and Kali were close, but Firae often understood her better.  They were, after all, very much alike.  
  
“People used to tell me things their parents had said about my mother when I was your age,” Firae told her.  “But you know it’s all right, don’t you?  When you are part of the ruling family, there will always be people that say unkind things.  Your papa and I know that, and we’re fine.  You know they can’t really hurt us, don’t you?”  
  
Kali sighed.  “I wanted to burn her.  I wanted to burn her and make her scream and it  _scared_ me, so I punched her instead.”  
  
“Well, punching someone is definitely better than burning them,” Firae reasoned, “but maybe we can come up with something that’s even better than that for next time someone makes you angry?”  
  
Kali gave a soft hum of consideration and laid her head on Firae’s shoulder.  
  
Rav, who was still wrapped around Tash’s leg, whined for his attention.  Balancing Viri in one arm, Tash looked down at him and ruffled his hair.  
  
“Papa, I grew a pixie house,” he said solemnly.    
  
Tash grinned.  “Show me.”  
  
Rav led him to the corner of the room where Gira and Tochi were playing, and Tash saw that they were placing tiny carved pixie figurines around a small structure.  It was a crude but unmistakable model of the Great Hall, complete with tiny blossoms woven through the outside walls.  
  
_“Rav,”_   Tash breathed.  “That is amazing.  That’s just like our house, isn’t it?”  
  
Rav beamed and nodded.  
  
“Firae, have you seen this?” Tash asked.  Firae and Kali looked over at the rest of the family, and then got up to join them.  
  
“So  _that’s_ what you were doing all morning,” Firae said, smoothing a hand through Rav’s hair.  He knelt down to inspect the little house more closely.  “This is incredible, Rav.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so young with such control of his powers.  We’ll have to sign you up for schooling soon.”  
  
Rav beamed.  Kali knelt down to get a better look at the structure as Firae stood up.  He noticed Riij alone in her bassinet and frowned, picking her up very carefully so as not to wake her.  
  
He rejoined his husband and the rest of their children, pressing his shoulder against Firae’s, each man cradling a baby to his chest.  Firae looked over at him with a soft smile.  
  
Kali had begun praising the pixie house enthusiastically, asking Rav if he would make an _actual_ pixie house for her to hang outside her bedchamber window, rather than one for Gira and Tochi’s dolls.  Rav’s cheeks were flushed with pleasure from all the attention, and the two smaller children continued to babble to one another, their pixie figurines clearly involved in some adventure that allowed them to essentially tune out everyone else in the room.  
  
“I don’t believe I actually took the time to say hello to you,” Tash said softly.  Firae’s smile widened.    
  
“Well.  Are you planning to?”  
  
Tash smirked.  “I was thinking about it.”  
  
Firae rolled his eyes.  “Hi,” he said.  
  
“Hi,” Tash returned.  They leaned in, meeting one another halfway to share a firm kiss.  
  
And then they both sat down to play with their children.

 

 

*****

 

 **18\. Blaine's favorite cheese recipe** (find the real-world version of this recipe [HERE](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/baked-fontina-recipe.html)).

 

**Forrester Farms: Dairy Delights for the Human Palate**

**936 Farmstretch Rd.**

**Khryslee**

**Blaine’s Favorite Herbed Cauldron Cheese**

_On the unlikely occasion that I actually get my Sidhe husband to eat cheese, this is the only recipe he will tolerate.  In fact, I once saw him scraping the cauldron with his bread to get the last bits of herbed oil when he thought I wasn’t looking.  Yes, it is actually **that**  good._

_Fresh herbs are an absolute must for this recipe, as is good cheese (and you can’t do better than Forrester Farms), cold-pressed oil, and an excellent loaf of bread._

_I suppose this recipe could feed 4-6 people, but if you truly want everyone to smile, I suggest doubling the recipe if you are serving more than 3._

**You will need:**

1½ wheels  **Forrester Farms medium-soft Red Rind cheese** , rind removed and diced into chell blossom-sized pieces

2 woodbells sourfruit oil

6 pepperbulb cloves, thinly sliced

2 sprigs tyr leaves, stems removed and leaves minced

2 large pinches minced winterbush needles

1 standard salt cube, ground

6 dried pepperberries, ground

1 loaf hard-crusted hearth bread (I suggest stopping by the Blessed Breadmakers market stall if you are not going to make it yourself.  They are truly artisans).

**To Proceed:**

Place a cooking stone in the hearth fire. Combine every ingredient except the bread into a pixie cauldron. When the stone glows red, remove it from the fire. Place the cauldron on the hearth’s cooking surface and place the stone on top. Allow the mixture to melt and simmer until the stone begins to cool. After 10 minutes, check on the cheese mixture. If it is slightly browned and bubbling, it is finished. If not, allow it to cook a little longer.

Eat the cheese with chunks of bread, and smile! Who says there’s no good cheese outside of Villalu?

 

*****

 

**19.**

The first time they really talked about it was after Kurt had watched Blaine bouncing Kali on his knee while they visited with Tash and Firae. Kali was small, then – little more than a baby, really, and Blaine had looked so happy and at home playing with her and letting her pull at his ears that it made Kurt’s heart squeeze in on itself.

“Blaine? Do you…do you ever think about raising children?” he asked him in bed later that night.

Blaine looked thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he said. “I like children, I just…” he trailed off with a shrug.

Kurt remained silent, studying him.

“Children take a lot of time and work,” Blaine finally continued. “I suppose I probably would have raised children if I’d stayed in Villalu, but here? Honestly, my life with you is far richer than I could have ever imagined my life to be, and I’ll have you to look after me in my old age, so…”

Kurt smiled, a little sad.

“Unless…do you? I wouldn’t object to a child if it’s something you want, Kurt, and a Sidhe child could be a comfort to you after I-”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Kurt cut him off firmly.

Blaine frowned. “I know, but Kurt, we have to-”

Kurt shook his head, visibly fighting back tears. He gave up the fight when Blaine took him into his arms.

“It’s all right,” Blaine murmured softly as Kurt sobbed against his neck. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

It was a long time before they talked about it again.

This time it was Blaine who brought it up, and once again, the conversation was prompted by Kali.

Kurt was the closest thing to family she had that was also Spiral, so he had taken Kali under his wing as soon as her powers had begun to develop. Blaine watched them one afternoon while he brushed the horses; Kurt was so kind and patient with her, even when she grew frustrated and became exceedingly difficult. He never allowed her to leave for the day until she had learned at least one new thing, and he always began each lesson by discussing the appropriate ways to use power, and the easy and tempting ways to misuse it.

“Kurt, I know you don’t want to talk about…too far in the future,” Blaine began as they prepared dinner later that night, “but do you ever think about raising children? If it weren’t for me, would it be something you would want?”

Kurt blinked at him. “I can’t imagine a life without you,” he said. “So what is the point of wondering?”

“I just…” Blaine sighed. “I don’t want you to sacrifice something that’s important to you just because having a human husband…complicates things.”

Kurt put down the collander of leaves he was scrubbing and walked over to Blaine, cupping his cheek with a cool, wet hand.

“Blaine,” he said, staring intently into his eyes. “Your presence in my life has done nothing but overwhelm me with a happiness that I am sure I could never get anyplace else. I want…I just want  _you._ I don’t want to focus my attention on someone else like that. I don’t want to share you. I want as much time alone with you as this life will give us. Perhaps that makes me selfish, but-”

“It doesn’t,” Blaine whispered. “But…even if it does, it isn’t  _bad._  Because I don’t want to share you either, even if it would be nice to have something cute and small to care for every now and then.”

Kurt couldn’t contain his smirk. “I suppose I can understand that. I mean, I  _already_ have something cute and small to care for,” Kurt began, kissing Blaine’s nose to punctuate the statement. “But  _you-”_

Kurt squealed as Blaine began to tickle him mercilessly for his transgression.

The last time they talked about it, they didn’t really talk about it at all. Kurt came home after half a week of traveling for work with a glint in his eye, but before Blaine could pull him upstairs to the bedroom, Kurt placed his hand on Blaine’s arm.

“Blaine,” he said, “we haven’t exactly discussed it, and I am sure I could find another home for him if you like, but I remembered what you said about having something cute and small to care for– ” Blaine scowled slightly when he remembered how the statement had been turned on him the last time “– and I thought that perhaps a pet might make more sense for us than a child.”

Blaine raised his eyebrows. “Wait. What?”

“Pet in the Villaluan sense of the word, of course,” Kurt hastened to clarify. “Here we call them…I suppose it would translate to companion animals? But it’s the same idea.”

“Oh.” Blaine thought for a moment and then brightened. “So you got us a pygmy grimchin for the house, then? I suppose they are cute, in a way…”

Kurt shook his head, his smile broadening. “Not a grimchin. A kladdle. You may not have seen one before around here, but they are fairly common domesticated animals along the Western Sea. I had one growing up.”

Blaine was practically bouncing. “I haven’t seen one! A kladdle? What’s that? Are they big? Do they bite? Do they have fur? What color-”

“Hold on,” Kurt said, laughing. “Follow me.”

Blaine followed Kurt into the sitting room, where a wooden crate the size of a small bench was set just inside the door. Kurt opened the crate, and after a moment a long, fluffy snout appeared, followed by an enormous set of round black eyes.

Blaine actually  _squealed._  At the noise the creature’s eyes widened impossibly, and it scurried back into the crate.

“He’s scared,” Kurt said softly. “His ears are very sensitive, so speak softly at first. Once he gets used to us he will adjust and it won’t matter, but-”

Blaine nodded silently, eyes dancing with excitement, and leaned closer to the crate.

Kurt made a soft cooing noise, and before long the creature began to emerge. Blaine shoved a fist into his mouth to keep from vocally reacting as the creature revealed itself completely.

The kladdle had long, smoke-colored fur that stuck out in every direction and looked like the softest substance in the world. It was about the size of a large cat, with floppy rabbitlike ears and a snout that was more similar to an aardvark than anything else Blaine had ever seen. Its body was extremely round and its legs were extremely short, and it walked with a bit of a waddle. It’s tail was essentially a puff ball.

It was quite possibly the cutest creature Blaine had ever seen in his life. He wanted to hug and squeeze it so badly he could hardly stand it.

Blaine stepped toward the creature and it froze, looking up at him with big, shining eyes full of fear.

“He’ll get comfortable before long,” Kurt assured Blaine when his face fell. “They’re actually very affectionate creatures. He just needs some time to settle in.”

Blaine smiled, continuing to stare at the little animal. “All right,” he conceded.

They named the kladdle Loshee, and it didn’t take long for Blaine to win him over.

Loshee loved having his belly scratched, and was surprisingly adept at climbing into their bed to curl up amongst Kurt and Blaine’s tangled legs. He loved cheese, which made Blaine adore him even more, and would follow Blaine around the house hoping for scraps. He made a soft rumbly sound that reminded Blaine of purring when he was particularly content, and a sharp snorting sound that struck Blaine as nothing but completely odd when he was in distress.

Late one summer evening, Kurt and Blaine sat in their garden sipping nectar and nibbling bits of food while they watched Loshee (rather ineffectively) chase pixies.

Kurt sighed happily and leaned back against Blaine’s chest. “Blaine?”

“Hmmmm?”

“I think…I think my life might actually be perfect,” he said. “Or at least as close to it as possible.” It sounded like a revelation.

Blaine chuckled softly. “Good. I hope so. I know that mine is.”

“I’m really glad we left child rearing to those that really desire it,” Kurt added, reaching behind him to feed Blaine a square of cheese from the platter beside them.

“Me too,” Blaine agreed, munching on the cheese. “I think the three of us make a perfect family.”

“We do,” Kurt said, before plucking another square of cheese from the platter and holding it out to Loshee. The kladdle’s eyes lit up and he began to waddle toward them. “We really, truly do.”

 

*****

 

**20\. The Beginning of a beautiful friendship**

 

“Now that’s just a shame,” a voice said from behind Kurt. He turned.

A boy about his own age was there, his dark hair back in a ponytail. He was staring at Kurt’s wrist. Kurt touched his blue bracelet self-consciously. “Normally I prefer ladies, but you are really quite  _pretty,_ has anyone ever told you that?”

The boy’s red bracelet glinted in the sunlight. Kurt rolled his eyes. “If that is the case, I highly doubt that you will find what’s between my legs to be anywhere near as pretty as my face.”

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” the boy said, smiling filthily as he eyed Kurt’s crotch through his loincloth.

Kurt glanced around the baths. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I’m apprenticing,” the boy said with a shrug, making no move to leave Kurt alone to bathe in peace.

“Doesn’t that still imply that you should be  _working?”_  Kurt asked.

The boy shrugged again. Kurt sighed heavily.

“Fine, then,” he said, and dropped his loincloth. The boy studied him.

“Hmmm. I suppose you’re right. I don’t mind the lack of breasts so much, but…perhaps if you were to lie on your stomach…”

Kurt thrust his braceleted wrist into the other boy’s face with a frustrated huff.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I just had my rite this year. I’m still getting used to all this. The bracelet is kind of new.”

“So is mine,” Kurt admitted.

The boy smiled at him. “I’ve seen you before. You live in the Great Hall. I work on the royal baths sometimes too.”

“Really,” Kurt said, impressed. “You must be very good when you do decide to work.”

The boy nodded. “I’m Puck. I heard you tell prince Firae to shut his mouth or you would shut it for him once,” Puck added. “That was pretty badass.”

Kurt blushed slightly. “I…um…Firae’s a very good friend of mine, actually. He just gets a bit arrogant sometimes.”

Puck laughed. “Well, you seem to keep that pretty well in check. Are you two going to get married?”

Kurt flushed an even deeper red. “I…I don’t…I…”

Puck laughed. “Sorry. I forgot – he hasn’t gotten his bracelet yet, has he?”

Kurt shook his head to signal that no, Firae hadn’t.

Puck smiled and bumped their shoulders together. “It’ll be blue,” he assured Kurt.

“How do you know?” Kurt asked skeptically.

“Please. I just do. And he definitely wants to bone you, by the way.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “Wh-what makes you say that?” he asked breathlessly.

Puck shrugged dismissively. “I just  _do._  It’s a gift. Now come on – I think my boss is coming. I’ll race you to the waterfall.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but broke into a run as soon as he saw that Puck actually did plan to race him.

As Kurt came close to overtaking him, Puck reached toward the pool nearest them and flicked his wrist. An arc of water rose from the pool and rushed at Kurt, knocking him to the ground when it hit. Kurt gaped at Puck in indignation, and then imitated Puck’s action with an even larger arc of water before scrambling to his feet to run past the other boy.

By the time they finally reached the waterfall they were soaking wet and laughing, and they had forgotten all about the race.

 

*****

 

**21.**

It was like a skin-tight metal suit, choking and binding him completely, was growing ever thinner and more flexible. He could  _feel_ it coming back; his power, his magic, the force that flowed through him and made him want to sing and smile and make things grow. His connection to every element, to the thrumming heart of the very world in which he lived. It wasn’t even the loss of power that had hurt so much, it was the loss of  _feeling._  Losing that sense of connection had been the worst thing to happen to Kurt by far since leaving Cloudlen.

So as the verbena left him, as the chains that bound him from within his very body grew thinner and thinner, Kurt expected to feel nothing but relief.

He didn’t expect it to hurt.

It wasn’t regaining his power that was so difficult, but rather the beauty of the world that it unveiled, beauty that Kurt had not even properly realized he had lost. He had supposed it was his circumstance and the relatively plain Villaluan landscapes that had muted the beauty of the world to his own eyes; he had not even realized how much his power sharpened every sense he had.

But it wasn’t the landscape that hurt to behold. Not really.

It was Blaine.

Kurt was trying desperately not to want Blaine, not to fall even the tiniest bit in love with him. Blaine was human. Blaine had the same hairy body and blunt features of Kurt’s tormenters. Blaine could not be beautiful.

But. Blaine  _was_  beautiful.

It hadn’t escaped Kurt’s notice that Blaine was attractive, of course, but he was absolutely and utterly unprepared for the way he truly sawBlaine as the verbena left his body.

The first things Kurt really noticed were Blaine’s eyes; the green-gold-brown hues making him think of sunlight leaking through the branches of trees in springtime. Blaine’s eyes were constantly brimming with emotion that he was unable to disguise (not that he often tried), and Kurt could have stared into their depths for hours upon hours.

But he couldn’t, of course. The only time he permitted himself to stare at Blaine for long stretches without pretense was while Blaine slept. Which was when Kurt began to notice the other things.

Like Blaine’s eyelashes; unreasonably long and dark and thick, fanning across his perfect cheeks and perfectly matching the unbelievably soft-looking curls on Blaine’s head.

Or how  _gorgeous_ Blaine’s skin was; a creamy tanned olive that suited him unbelievably well. And his lips. Dear gods, his  _lips!_ They were shaped like a plump rosy bow, and Kurt just wanted to-

Gods. Kurt just  _wanted._

But it wasn’t until Kurt began to truly notice Blaine’s  _body_ that he really began to get nervous. The verbena was completely gone now, and there was no reason for Blaine to stay with him. No reason, if he were being honest, for  _him_ to stay with  _Blaine._  He reasoned that he enjoyed the man’s companionship, that he owed Blaine the chance to try and gain admittance to Khryslee after Blaine had saved him.

But it was more than that. And Kurt knew it.

Kurt didn’t know what to do when he found himself daydreaming about such things as licking Blaine’s arms and squeezing his ass. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if it were only that sort of thing, but it wasn’t just lust. He thought about kissing Blaine too, and staring into his eyes unabashedly, and tracing the lines of him and making him smile. No, it wasn’t just lust. What Kurt desired was closeness. Intimacy. Connection.

Kurt didn’t think he would want someone again so soon after being freed from years of sexual abuse. He would never have imagined it could be possible, and he nervously wondered what, precisely, was wrong with him.

But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt so incredibly right that it was  _terrifying._

The thought of touches from Blaine – gentle and loving and oh-so- _wanted_  made Kurt’s whole body relax. He yearned for it so intensely that he could barely withstand it.

Still. Kurt didn’t plan on doing anything about it. He  _couldn’t._  Blaine simply wasn’t an option. And besides, Kurt had managed to withstand a great many unbearable things while enslaved. He could certainly handle one more.

But then Blaine’s very life had been threatened. And Kurt’s power had roared forth from beneath his flesh.

It had been terrifying and exhilarating and cathartic and out of control. It had knocked his feet from under him and turned his entire world upside down. And then it was done, and he had looked in Blaine’s eyes, and there was no fear there. All that Kurt saw in those intense liquid eyes was love,  _actual_ love, and a true reverence for Kurt’s freedom and power.

“ _I’m here for as long as you want me.”_

It was a statement of pure surrender, of absolute trust. And giving in to it would unravel every version of Happily Ever After that Kurt had ever crafted for himself. There had been many; he had had years to dream from behind iron bars.

Blaine was unsettling. Disruptive. Amazing.

And Kurt couldn’t stand to resist him for one moment longer.

“ _I want you so badly that sometimes I can’t even breathe.”_

When their lips met Kurt nearly burst into tears of joy and relief. Because as far from the border as they may be, and as long as it had been since Kurt had set foot in his native land, one thing was simply undeniable.

Blaine tasted like home.

 

*****

 

**22.**

“Where is he?”

“Kurt, calm down. He-”

“Where  _is_ he?”

Kurt shoved Sanya aside and ran into the farmhouse.

“Brit’s tending to him,” Sanya told him as she followed Kurt into the sitting room. Brit was there, pointed ears poking out from a mass of damp blonde hair. She sat cross-legged on the floor, Blaine’s head in her lap, both of them surrounded by a soft green glow.

She looked up at them as they approached. “Something isn’t right,” she said, her eyes red and tear-swollen and her voice tiny.

Kurt stared at Blaine, looking so small and pale and fragile, unconscious on the floor. “What happened?” He whispered.

“He – we were riding the waterfall,” Brit said miserably. “He – he didn’t land right. I think he hit his head on a rock.” She bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “At least he’s breathing now. He wasn’t before, and he was blue – he went under with the swell and I couldn’t  _find_ him and then when I did find him he was – he looked–” Sanya knelt down beside her and looked up at Kurt warily, rubbing Brit’s shoulders soothingly as the elf began to cry.

Kurt sank to his knees. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry with Brit; Kurt had worried about Blaine playing in that damn waterfall, but Blaine had always rolled his eyes and brushed off his concern.  _It’s fine, Kurt,_  Blaine would say.  _Brit’s a healer. If anything happens, she’ll fix me up._ And  _Stop worrying, Kurt, I’m not made of glass, a_ nd  _it’s just a waterfall, Kurt._ _ **Children**_ _play in it, for gods’ sake!_

“Blaine Anderson, after I save you I am going to  _kill_ you for this,” Kurt whispered shakily. He moved to take Brit’s place and she gently let go of Blaine’s head, placing it in Kurt’s palms and scooting back to watch him work. She seemed to have no qualms about letting Kurt take over. He was, after all, irrefutably more powerful than her.

Kurt cradled Blaine’s head and let the cool green energy connect them, let it read Blaine’s body and tell Kurt the story of all that was wrong. His skull was fractured but his brain wasn’t damaged, thank the gods – it wasn’t that Kurt  _couldn’t_ repair mild brain damage, but it would have taken every last bit of energy and power he had to spare and rendered him weak and exhausted for days. Brit had already repaired most of the damage to his lungs and ribs, but head trauma was delicate and complicated work. Only the most powerful healers were particularly proficient at it.

Luckily, Kurt was very powerful.

Once Kurt had healed Blaine completely, Sanya showed them to a spare bedroom so that the two men could rest. Kurt settled on the bed, pulling Blaine close before he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

****~000~**  
**

Kurt woke up to Blaine stirring in his arms. He watched Blaine blink rapidly and then look slightly confused before the very edges of realization began to creep into his eyes.

“Kurt, what – I – you healed me?”

Kurt nodded without lifting his head from the pillow.

“Why?” Blaine furrowed his brow at Kurt’s cool expression.

Kurt sighed. “Blaine, what is the last thing you remember?”

Blaine squinted at the ceiling in concentration, absently running his fingers along Kurt’s side. “I was…I was churning butter, and then Sanya said it was too hot for it so I shouldn’t bother, and then I…” Blaine thought. “Brit!” He finally announced triumphantly. “She said we should cool off by going to the…”

Blaine trailed off at the look in Kurt’s eyes. He sighed. “I hurt myself at the creek, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Blaine. But it wasn’t just the creek, it was that stupid-”

“But I  _love_ the waterfall!” Blaine cut in before Kurt could even finish.

“You almost died,” Kurt snapped. He abruptly wriggled free of Blaine’s limbs and stood up, rubbing his temples with his thumbs as he began to pace the room.

“ _Kurt,”_ Blaine said softly, his eyes full of shock and guilt.

“What the hell do you expect me to do without you, Blaine? It’s already going to be-”

Kurt paused and wrapped his arms around himself, and before his shoulders even started to shake Blaine was on his feet. He strode to Kurt and reached for him, but Kurt pushed him away and crossed the room.

Blaine just stared at him, utterly flabbergasted.

“You owe me another three hundred years at  _least,_  you asshole,” Kurt managed to get out, unable to disguise the quiver in his voice. “You don’t just get to-” he bit his lip and turned his back on Blaine as he fought to control his tears. It was a losing battle.

“Kurt, please,” Blaine said in the soft tone one might use to placate a frightened animal.

“Please what?” Kurt snapped, leaning against the wall and wrapping his arms even tighter around himself.

“Please…may I hug you?”

Kurt turned around and gave Blaine a measured look. It was a  _you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me_ look, a  _that’s a dirty trick and you know it, Blaine_  look. He opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it again, his face screwing up, and nodded mutely as violent sobs overtook him.

Blaine was across the room in seconds, pulling Kurt into his arms and holding him tight.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Blaine murmured. “I’m so  _sorry,_  I didn’t think – I just – you aren’t going to lose me, Kurt. I promise I’ll be more careful. I’ll never go to the creek again. I’ll-”

Kurt shook his head against Blaine’s shoulder. “I’m n-not – not saying you can’t h-have  _fun,_ Blaine. I just…I just…”

“I know,” Blaine whispered, rocking Kurt gently in his arms as he pressed small kisses to his temple. “I won’t ride the waterfall anymore. It’s dangerous and you’ve warned me, and I should have known better.”

“But you l-love the waterfall,” Kurt sniffled.

Blaine sighed. “I love you more,” he said softly, brushing a thumb across Kurt’s cheek.

 

*****

 

**23.**

When Kurt came home, the house was dark, and Blaine hadn’t come to the door to greet him when Kurt called out that he was home. He assumed Blaine must be out, so when he entered the bedroom and flicked on the lights, he couldn’t stop himself from screaming when he saw a figure lying in his bed.

Blaine sat bolt upright, eyes flying open wide. “Dronyen,  _no!”_ he cried out, voice hoarse and edged with terror. Kurt was at his side at once.

“Blaine, it’s all right,” he said softly, gently turning Blaine’s face toward his as he sat down beside him. Blaine looked panicked and confused, but began to slowly calm as Kurt looked at him and stroked his chin with his thumb. As soon as the realization of where he actually was seemed to settle over him, he sighed and pulled Kurt into a hug.

“I thought…god, Kurt, I thought Dronyen had you…I thought I heard you scream…”

“You did, I’m sorry,” Kurt said softly. “I didn’t expect you to be home, and then when I saw someone lying in the bed – I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Blaine sighed again and burrowed his face into Kurt’s neck. “No, I was already having a bad dream anyway, and it’s been a really rough day. Sanya sent me home.”

Kurt stroked the back of Blaine’s head as he listened to his muffled voice. “What happened?” He asked gently.

Blaine murmured something unintelligible and pulled Kurt closer.

“Blaine?” Kurt asked gently after a moment.

“Kaja had her baby today. But they – they didn’t make it, neither one of them.”

Kurt made a tiny sound of sorrow and began rocking Blaine gently. Kaja was Blaine’s favorite goat. She was incredibly playful and mischievous, and he used to come home with stories of her antics every week, his eyes shining with humor and affection.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt murmured. He knew just how attached Blaine tended to get to the animals at the farm.

“If I’d realized in time, Brit could have come and saved them, but I thought – she seemed-”

Kurt rubbed soothing circles on Blaine’s back, and continued to hold him.

“I know she’s just a goat,” Blaine finally said.

“She’s not just a goat. You loved her, Blaine.”

Blaine sighed. “Sanya’s always saying animals die, that’s just how it is on a farm, so I tried to keep working. But…I don’t know, I just couldn’t seem to do anything right, so she finally told me I’m no good to her until I can grow up and stop wailing like a banshee over every little creature that stubs its toe.  And then she sent me home for the rest of the day.”

Kurt willed himself not leap to his feet and track Sanya down and  _throttle_ her for being so cruel to Blaine. The last time he had confronted her for upsetting Blaine, Blaine had gotten far angrier at Kurt for it than Sanya had. So Kurt simply continued to rock Blaine gently, and thought about what he could do that might actually help.

“You’ve been working hard lately,” Kurt said, kneading into the tight muscles of Blaine’s back. “It’s probably good that she sent you home.”

Blaine moaned as Kurt rubbed his back. Kurt kissed the top of his head.

“You need to relax. Wait here for just a few moments, all right?”

Blaine groaned softly in protest when the warmth of Kurt’s body moved away from his own, but nodded and settled back into bed.

****~000~**   **

Blaine was just about to drift off again when Kurt re-appeared, rubbing his back and kissing his face and softly urging him to get up.

Kurt led Blaine to the small private pool behind their house, nestled in a copse of flower trees.  Kurt had hung lanterns from some of the tree branches, heated the water, and added sweet-smelling oils.  The wafting steam and the muted lamplight were so soothing that Blaine felt himself start to relax before he even got in.  

There were large carved stones to sit on around the inside rim of the pool, and as Blaine settled in with a sigh, the warm water reaching his chest and soothing his sore muscles, Kurt slipped in behind him. Kurt began kneading Blaine’s shoulders and arms as Blaine melted back into his embrace.

Blaine felt himself start to drift a bit as Kurt massaged his body, his skin blanketed in warm water and sweet, hazy steam. As he drifted, Kurt’s hands continued to work their way across his body, rubbing knots out of his back, his neck, his arms, his thighs…

Blaine wasn’t sure when he started to get hard, but when Kurt’s hands found their way to his inner thighs, Blaine couldn’t help moaning softly and spreading his legs.

Kurt chuckled softly into his ear, moving his hand to cup Blaine’s balls and squeeze gently.

“Kurt,” Blaine whimpered softly. “Please, I want you.”

“How do you want me?” Kurt whispered, his lips still at Blaine’s ear, as his fingers wound around Blaine’s hard length and began to slowly stroke.

Blaine’s head fell back onto Kurt’s shoulder as he let out a loud groan. “Whatever you want, sweet Blaine,” Kurt murmured, his hand continuing its languorous pace. He kissed the lobe of Blaine’s ear.

“You – I want you in my lap. I want to be inside of you, Kurt, I-”

Kurt smiled. He had figured as much. That position tended to be Blaine’s favorite when he craved intimacy and comfort. Kurt hadn’t asked if it was because it reminded Blaine of the first time they ever made love, but that was only because he didn’t need to.

Kurt ran his hands down Blaine’s back and kissed the back of his neck one last time before moving out from behind Blaine. Blaine moved back until his shoulders were flush against the bank of the pool, and Kurt settled in his lap.

Kurt leaned down and began kissing Blaine softly, their fingers unintentionally tangling together as they both reached for Kurt’s entrance. They laughed against one another’s mouths as they both worked Kurt open, the feeling of their fingers sliding against one another surprisingly intimate.  when Kurt moved his fingers away and slowly began lowering himself onto Blaine’s shaft, Blaine wrapped his arms loosely around Kurt’s waist.  They both let out quiet gasps as Kurt fully settled into Blaine’s lap.

Blaine’s head fell back against the grassy bank, sighing with contented pleasure as Kurt’s heat surrounded him. It was different this way, without the flower oil to exaggerate their pleasure, and sometimes they both preferred the muted quality of it. Kurt drew himself up and down Blaine’s length, the water around them rippling and causing tiny waves to lap at the bank of the pool. He angled himself so that the head of Blaine’s cock pressed into his most pleasurable spot, happy to do all the work as Blaine simply skimmed his hands up and down Kurt’s sides loosely.

“ _Kurt,”_ Blaine sighed, opening his eyes and looking up at his husband. Kurt smiled down at him through a haze of steam and lazy pleasure, leaning down to claim Blaine’s mouth again as Blaine lay pliant beneath him, head cradled on the soft grass of the pool’s bank.

When Kurt pulled his lips away from Blaine’s it was to throw his had back and keen loudly, his back arching tremendously on a particularly fantastic thrust, Blaine’s hips moving against Kurt’s and pushing himself even deeper into Kurt’s body. He began running his hands down Kurt’s sparkling-wet chest, the tension coiling low in his stomach as he watched his beautiful elfin husband ride him slow and hard, parted lips dark pink against his pale skin, the tips of his ears poking through his damp, messy hair.

Kurt’s moans grew decidedly louder when Blaine began stroking him in time with the movement of their hips, and those sounds alone were nearly enough to make Blaine come.

Blaine lifted his head and moved his hands down to the swell of Kurt’s ass to grasp his cheeks firmly, lifting Kurt and pushing him down so that Kurt’s sore thigh muscles didn’t give out entirely. Water began sloshing onto the shore in earnest as their movements gained speed, and before long Blaine was crying out as he came deep inside of Kurt, and then continuing to stroke Kurt as he panted into Blaine’s mouth and then groaned deep as he came, Blaine’s softening cock still inside him.

They stayed like that for several moments, trading slow, lush, indulgent kisses, bodies fitted together warm and wet and perfect.

When Kurt finally climbed off of Blaine’s lap he settled beside him, stroking his cheek. Blaine smiled and cupped Kurt’s chin, leaning in to kiss him. “Thank you,” he murmured against Kurt’s lips.

“It was my pleasure,” Kurt sighed happily. “I hope you’re feeling a little better.”

Blaine grinned. “I’m feeling a  _lot_ better, actually. You always know how to fix everything.”

“With sex?” Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sex  _and_ a bath,” Blaine corrected him with a smirk.

“How about sex, a bath and dinner? I’ll even make that cheese and fried bread thing you like.”

Blaine’s smile widened. “You are my favorite,” he said , settling even more into the still-warm bath as Kurt moved to stand up.

“Your favorite what?” Kurt asked with a small laugh.

“My favorite  _everything,”_ Blaine murmured, closing his eyes and sighing, feeling utterly boneless and relaxed.

Kurt kissed Blaine’s forehead. “You’re my favorite everything too.”

 

*****

 

**24.**

 

Not everything can be fixed or grown with magic. Sometimes things just call for a pair of strong hands.

And Kurt’s father had  _very_  strong hands. Blaine had learned that when, flustered, he had reached out to shake the man’s hand like the bumbling human idiot that he was. And now his hand was throbbing, and Kurt was frowning at his father.

Blaine decided that it might be the perfect opportunity to take a walk around the grounds. He and Kurt had just arrived the day before, and it was probably time to give Kurt some time alone to talk to his father.

Blaine hadn’t been offered the man’s pet name yet. He was fairly certain that this was not a mere oversight.

Kurt’s father was of Common Caste, and he built things and fixed things with minimal help from the earth he commanded. He did, apparently, use his ability to locate pockets of precious ore, but the work itself was all done by hand. And his work was beautiful.

He crafted harnasses and saddles for grimchins, tools for tilling the land, and shockingly delicate jewelry. He wore a faded marriage tattoo, never erased, but bordered thickly in dark ink and surrounded by a new design. His wife had done the same; their inner designs different and reserved for their first loves, their outer designs identical and dedicated to one another.

Blaine thought it was terribly romantic. He ached to tell Kurt’s father as much, but hesitated to do so because the man drove him nearly blind with terror.

Because, quite frankly, Kurt’s father was  _terrifying._ In Blaine’s opinion, terror seemed like a fairly rational response.

Blaine found himself wandering away from Kurt’s father’s workshop, which was an isolated plant mound several hundred feet from the family’s living quarters. The main building was a sprawling flower mound in which Kurt’s family lived, consisting of one large main common area and seven offshoots. The offshoots were smaller mounds connected by narrow, winding halls veering off in every direction, and consisting mostly of private quarters.

The land itself was essentially a clearing, heavily dotted with thick clusters of trees and shrubbery. The house had accommodated the plant life as it expanded, fitting itself around the trees to create one of the most interesting architectural landscapes Blaine had ever seen.

What he loved best about Kurt’s home land, however, was that it was on the coast. When he had awoken that morning, nestled with Kurt in his childhood bedchamber, Blaine could smell the sea. It made him ache for his mother.

Kurt and his father’s raised voices were too loud to escape without walking further than Blaine dared, so he couldn’t help but listen in. Blaine knew that they were discussing him; Kurt’s native language still sounded too much like music for Blaine to pick out individual words and phrases with much success, but he had managed to work out a bit over the years, and concepts like  _tradition_ and  _family_  and  _responsibility_  and  _maturity_  were definitely being thrown about. But so were things like  _love_ and  _fate_  and  _worthy_ and  _soul-mated._ So were things like  _the happiest day of my life._

Blaine tried to wander as far away from the workshop as he could without straying too far from the main house. Others in the feririar were even less pleased with Blaine’s presence than Kurt’s father had been, and with the Western Sea Lands being so far from the Villaluan Border, absolutely no one seemed to speak a word of Villaluan. Blaine knew that Kurt’s extended family may be wary of him at best and disgusted by his relationship with Kurt at worst, but they wouldn’t actually hurt him. If he wandered too far from the protection of their land, however…

Blaine sighed. Perhaps he would go into Kurt’s room and simply wait for him. He wanted to take a walk to the beach, just to sit and watch the waves lap against the shore like he had when he was small, but he didn’t dare to go without Kurt. The prospect of running into an angry, bigoted Sidhe that Blaine couldn’t even attempt to placate with words was not an appealing concept.

Just as Blaine turned to head toward Kurt’s little flower-mound, Kurt’s voice and that of his father grew louder. They were obviously walking in Blaine’s direction. Blaine stilled and waited for them to draw near, eyeing them warily as they finally came into view.

Kurt’s father glanced at Blaine, then back at Kurt before sighing and reaching out to touch Blaine’s shoulder and look into his eyes. This was the standard gesture of greeting in this part of Faerie Country, which Blaine  _knew_ but hadn’t remembered when he had shaken the man’s hand  _(idiot!)_ the previous day.

“Blaine,” the man said, his accent thicker than Kurt’s but shaping itself around the Villaluan name in a similar way, making Blaine’s heart melt just a bit. “You may call me Burt. Welcome to our family.”

Blaine swallowed, stunned but incredibly pleased. He briefly considered attempting a greeting in Burt’s native tongue, but he decided not to push his luck. “Thank you, sir,” he said instead in Villaluan, placing his arm on Burt’s shoulder to return the gesture. “It is an honor.”

Burt studied Blaine for a moment and gave him what could almost have been the shadow of a smile. He looked past Blaine to nod at Kurt before squeezing Blaine’s shoulder and gruffly taking his leave of them to return to his workshop.

“What did you say?” Blaine asked, incredulous, turning to Kurt. Kurt smiled and walked closer to Blaine, slipping their hands together and interlacing their fingers.

“My father has been in love twice, Blaine. He may be traditional, but he has a good heart and he wants me to be happy, no matter what anyone else in the feririar might have to say about it.”

Blaine couldn’t keep the shyness out of his smile. “Do you think he might actually like me some day?”

Kurt’s face softened, and he leaned in to kiss Blaine gently. “I think he’s already starting to, and once he really gets to know you, he’ll be ready to trade me in as a son and adopt you instead.”

Blaine laughed. “I doubt that. He really loves you, Kurt.”

Kurt squeezed his hand, and then pulled him into a hug. “Yes, I’m very lucky to have the love of some pretty incredible men.”

Blaine inhaled deeply, squeezing Kurt close, the smell of Kurt and tree blossoms and the ocean itself making his heart tug with longing and fill with warmth all at once.

“Can we walk to the beach?” Blaine murmured against Kurt’s neck. Kurt pulled back with a smile, his hand finding Blaine’s again as he began to lead Blaine in the direction of the crashing waves.

 

 *****

 

**25\. But What of Puck?**

 

It was centuries before Puck stopped wearing the red bracelet.  
  
It wasn’t because he finally found one person to give his heart to. It wasn’t because he felt the urge to settle down and raise a family. It was because he found himself restless and unfulfilled and decided to take a soul walk to realign himself.  
When he emerged from the soul walk, it was with the bracelet limp in his hand, a new sense of purpose screaming beneath his skin.  
  
Puck had always hoped to earn a place in the bed of a priestess-whore. He knew it was probably never going to happen; the priestesses rarely took lovers that weren’t devotees, and becoming a devotee meant wearing a golden armband. It also meant remaining celibate for seven years.  
  
Puck didn’t even hesitate, walking directly from the shrine where he had had his soul walk (the Blessed Destroyer of Things That Do Not Change), and into the high temple of Cloudlen, prostrating himself before the first priestess he found there and presenting his bare arm for adornment.  
  
The process was a far stranger experience for Puck’s friends than it was for Puck himself. He was still Puck, after all, but he was much more serious and focused than he had ever been before. He still made lewd comments about the growing strength of his right arm during his celibacy, but he also tended to the temples and shrines of Cloudlen along with the other devotees. He also studied the sacred texts until they took over all of his dreams at night. He still meditated for hours upon hours each day.  
  
After the seven years had passed, the traditional step was to serve for at least another three years, learning secret and sacred truths in the beds of priestesses. The experience of making love with a priestess was like nothing Puck had ever imagined. It was as if his body and soul were finally aligned, making the world soft and clear and soaked in invisible pleasure. It strengthened him spiritually, always, but it wasn’t until a new high priestess was appointed that Puck truly understood the concept of worship through sex.  
  
Her name was Ficha, and she was incredible. She looked like the Sacred Whore herself made flesh, the curves of her body supple and round and heavy and utterly intoxicating to behold. She was taller than Puck, and broader by far. Her eyes were the color of ripe plums and her breasts were the most beautiful things Puck had ever seen.  
  
And though Puck unashamedly fell to her feet the moment he met her, he found that he could not read her in the slightest.  
  
He could read the other priestesses if he concentrated; he was generally able to understand who among them desired him and who did not, even if their inner workings were far more deeply concealed than those of women in red bracelets at the public baths. But this woman, this priestess, this near-goddess, she was an utter mystery.  
  
The ceremonies that she led invoked the deepest spiritual responses that Puck had ever had. She was blunt and critical but so warm and open-hearted that her words never managed to truly sting. Puck could not stop thinking about her.  
  
He stayed in service beyond the expected three years, his silver armband shot through with flecks of gold identifying him as a sexually active devotee, and many visiting priestesses called him to their beds. And through the years he could feel Ficha watching him, would turn and find her scrutinizing him with her piercing purple eyes, and he would dare to hope that perhaps the day had come. Perhaps she would finally invite him to her bedchamber.  
  
It was another three years before she finally did.  
  
“I only accept the most devoted,” she told Puck. “I am worth the best and most loyal among you, and those with less to offer only crumble in my hands.” It was a statement of truth, somehow delivered with barely a hint of arrogance. It was a known fact that the most powerful priestesses tended to drive weaker bedmates to actual madness.  
  
And when Puck finally saw her flushed and aroused and focused entirely on him, he knew that it was true. And he wondered if he were truly strong enough to withstand the madness himself.  
  
It turned out that he was.  
  
Ficha did not devote herself entirely to Puck, and he never devoted himself entirely to her. But she embodied the devotion he did feel more completely than anyone else he had ever known, her very body an expression of the deep spiritual convictions they both shared.  
  
From time to time Puck would take his red bracelet out of the small box where he kept it and roll the beads between his fingers. He had fulfilled the service that was expected of him, and he could remove the gold and silver armband and slip the bracelet back on at a moment’s notice. He could walk away from his new life without a single complication, without even losing his station as a temple attendant if he so chose. Some of the priestesses would probably still call upon him for sex from time to time if he did it. But.  
  
But.  
  
It wasn’t that he didn’t find himself tempted at times, longing for the simplicity of sex that didn’t utterly consume his body and soul and allow him to traverse reality’s deepest planes. But somehow, in the end, it just seemed exhausting. He had learned what sex could be, and the notion of it as nothing more than a physical act seemed not only overwhelming, but nearly impossible.  
  
He and Ficha were never partners, not in any true sense. But their bond was even deeper in some ways than that of true lovers; what they had was not a commitment to one another, but rather a devotion they expressed through one another.  
  
The red bracelet stayed in its little box, the stones growing worn from Puck’s thumbs rubbing over it so often.  
  
He never wore a tattoo.  His skin remained pure and unblemished, lacking the faded dyes and scars of so many around him.  But until the day he died, he wore his gold and silver armband.  And the red bracelet in its little red box stayed with him just as long.

 

*****

 

 **26.** **Oasis** (note: this incarnation does not take place in the same world as _The Sidhe._ Just so there's no confusion).

 

Kurt walked as silently as possible along the wooded path.  He’d never seen the beautiful creatures that lived in the forest before, but he’d heard about them all of his life, and he always walked quietly in the hope of finally meeting one.  Though they lived wild, he had always been told that they were exceptionally clever.  They could also be exceptionally malicious, but Kurt wasn’t afraid.  After all, it wasn’t as if the humans in his life (excluding his father, of course)  had shown him any sort of kindness.

  
It wasn’t a special day.  There were no signs to indicate that his life was about to change.  He was simply doing what he had always done; walking quietly toward the pond where no one else seemed to go, so that he could feed the fish and dip his feet in the water and watch the sky.  The pond was a good hour’s walk into the forest, but it was worth it, even on the hottest of days.  It was Kurt’s oasis.  
  
When he arrived at the pond (as quietly as possible), his heart sunk when he saw that he was in fact  _not_  the only person to have found it.  There was already someone bathing in the pond, and Kurt sighed, pondering where he might like to spend the afternoon instead.  He stepped on a twig, creating a tiny snapping sound that even the most astute ears wouldn’t have heard.  But the man in the pond whipped around to face him, eyes wide.  
  
And…it wasn’t a man at all.  
  
Well, it  _was,_ the creature was clearly male and close enough to human to be mistaken for one at a distance, but when he saw the eyes - so bright gold they were blinding - and the pointed ears sticking out of the mess of wet black curls, it was instantly and completely clear that this was not a human man.  This was a Sidhe.  
  
Kurt had finally come face-to-face with a Sidhe.  And all of the tales were true - the creature was so beautiful he nearly made Kurt’s heart stop.  
  
The Sidhe was lithe and lightly muscled, with sun-kissed golden skin and curls tumbling down his neck.  His lips were full and dark, and his eyes-  
  
Kurt wasn’t entirely able to concentrate on the Sidhe’s eyes, distracted by the sheer magnitude of fear he saw there.  The creature had begun backing away from him.  
  
“NO!” Kurt called out quickly, perhaps a little sharply, and the creature flinched.  
  
“No, I mean…I’m not going to hurt you,” Kurt said, much more softly.  “I promise.  I just…I’ve never met one of you before.”  
  
The Sidhe stared at him.  
  
“I…do you speak my language?  My name is Kurt.”  
  
The elf opened his mouth and spoke, the sound that escaped his lips like cascading music.  
  
“Wow,” Kurt whispered simply.  He began to very slowly inch his way forward.  
  
That, apparently, was just a bit too much.  The Sidhe turned and bounded out of the pond, his fully naked form glistening in the noontime sun.  Kurt couldn’t help it; he  _stared._   The   
Sidhe’s body was even more incredible than he had guessed, and though he was disappointed to see the creature run toward the trees on the opposite side of the pond from where Kurt stood, he couldn’t even pretend to find fault with the view.  
  
When he reached the line of trees, the Sidhe turned back and looked at Kurt, his gaze so intense it made Kurt’s breath hitch.  And then he was gone.

  
****~000~**  
**

  
Kurt didn’t stop thinking about his encounter with the Sidhe, but after a few weeks he resigned himself to the probability that he would never see that particular Sidhe - or perhaps any Sidhe at all - again.  He certainly never expected the elf to find  _him._  
  
It was early morning, and Kurt was alone, fixing a wagon in his father’s workshop.  He had insisted that his father take at least two days off each week after his recent illness, and after much grumbling Burt had complied.  Kurt found that he actually quite liked the solitude sometimes, and on this particular morning he was singing quietly to himself to pass the time.  
  
He allowed his singing to falter when he attempted to work a particularly rusty bolt free, grunting with effort and swearing under his breath.  He paused for a moment to breathe, and then froze.    
  
He had the unmistakable knowledge that someone was  _watching_ him.  He could all but feel eyes on the back of his neck.  
  
Kurt’s hand tightened on the heavy wrench in his hand, and he raised it as he whirled around, more than ready to confront whomever thought it would be good fun to scare Kurt in the pre-dawn hours.  In the doorway, he saw piercing golden eyes widen with fright and then disappear  all at once.  Kurt dropped the wrench.  
  
“Wait!  Come back!” He cried out, and ran out the door after the elf.  
  
He didn’t see the Sidhe when he emerged from the workshop, so he began carefully walking around the perimeter of the small building.  “I don’t even think you can understand me, but I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.  He spoke quietly, well aware of how good the Sidhe’s hearing seemed to be.  “I just…well,  _you_ scared  _me._ I thought you might be one of the village boys, still up from a night of drinking, and…”    
  
Kurt sighed.  He didn’t see the elf anywhere.  
  
“I’m not a violent person,” he said, continuing until he found himself at the front door to the workshop again.  “But I have to defend myself, don’t I?  I can’t just let them-”  
  
Kurt stepped in front of the doorway and froze. “-push me around,” he finished weakly.  
  
The Sidhe was inside the workshop, and he was studying both the wrench Kurt had been using and the rusted bolt on the wagon wheel that still refused to budge.  He turned and met Kurt’s eye, and gave him a shy smile.  
  
“Hi,” Kurt said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.  
  
“Hi,” the Sidhe replied, and Kurt had to use every bit of focus he could muster not to gasp and swoon.  The Sidhe’s voice - even on a single syllable - was rich and melodious, and Kurt was reasonably sure he could drown in it and be perfectly happy.  
  
The Sidhe gestured toward Kurt.  “Kurt,” he said.  Kurt smiled and nodded, clutching the door frame as subtly as he could. The sound of the Sidhe’s voice wrapping around his name was one of the most desperately gorgeous things Kurt had ever heard.    
  
The Sidhe then gestured to himself.  “Blaine,” he said.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt repeated reverently, the name landing soft and lovely on his tongue.  
  
For a moment they merely smiled at one another, and Kurt didn’t care that it lasted far too long, didn’t worry about what it might mean.  Blaine’s smile took up every single bit of his attention.  
  
Kurt finally ducked his head and bit his lip when the intensity grew to be too much.  He had no idea why Blaine was here, what he wanted from Kurt, or what Kurt could possibly have to offer him.  
  
“Kurt.  May…I help?”  His voice was stilted, and his accent thick as he stumbled over the words.  Kurt looked up to see Blaine running his fingers over the rusted bolt.  
  
“Be my guest,” Kurt said with a smile.    
  
Blaine gave him a puzzled look.    
  
“What I mean is, yes.  Please do,” Kurt clarified.  “I could use some help.”  
  
Blaine smiled, and to Kurt’s surprise did not pick up the wrench.  Instead he knelt to the dirt floor and closed his eyes.  He placed his palm on the ground, and a soft golden glow surrounded his hand and then slowly engulfed it.  Kurt watched in amazement as Blaine slowly lifted his hand from the floor, a strange plant growing from shoot to full maturity before his eyes.  
  
It wasn’t anything Kurt had seen before.  It looked like some kind of succulent, with thick, rubbery oval-shaped leaves.  The leaves were bright green and shot through with deep violet.  
  
Blaine snapped off one of the leaves and pried it open.  Inside was a translucent dark green gel.  Blaine touched his fingers to the gel and held the opened leaf out to Kurt, encouraging him to do the same.  Kurt furrowed his brow but dipped his fingertips into the cool substance anyhow, strangely unable to do anything but trust Blaine.  
  
Blaine reached for the bolt, and Kurt jumped.  There was a hissing sound, and the rust began to bubble and turn green.  Kurt stared down at his own fingers.  The gel didn’t seem to be hurting him at all, which was perhaps why Blaine had encouraged him to touch it, but it was certainly doing a number on the rusted bolt.  Kurt had the fleeting thought that he hoped it didn’t burn through and destroy the wheel, but he was far too fascinated to think too deeply on the matter.  
  
When the bubbling slowed to a near-stop, the bolt now encased in green foam, Blaine took a cloth from Burt’s work table and wiped off the bolt, to reveal most of the rust gone.  He added more gel and repeated the procedure, and this time the bolt was shining like new, the metal rust-free and utterly unscathed.  
  
Kurt stared at the bolt, and then looked up to see Blaine looking at him with a hopeful smile.  
  
“Thank you, Blaine, that was amazing,” Kurt said.  Blaine beamed.  
  
Blaine opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when a door could be heard slamming shut in the distance.  He darted toward the door.  
  
“Blaine, wait!”  Kurt called.    
  
Blaine paused in the doorway and turned, and on impulse Kurt untied the pendant he wore around his neck and handed it to Blaine.  For a moment, Blaine seemed to forget about his fear of whomever had slammed the door, and simply stared at the pendant in shock.    
  
Kurt felt his cheeks heat up.  It wasn’t anything special, really, just a smooth blue stone on a length of cord.  But it had been his mother’s, and it meant something to Kurt, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he was so afraid that Blaine might reject the necklace.  
  
Blaine’s eyes didn’t leave Kurt’s as he reached for the necklace.  
  
“You don’t have to-” Kurt started, but Blaine was already fastening the pendant around his own neck.  Kurt moved to stand behind him, his fingers brushing Blaine’s as he helped him tie it securely in place.  “There,” Kurt whispered.  Blaine gave a small shiver as Kurt’s breath ghosted across his ear.  He turned to face Kurt, and for a moment they simply looked at one another.  Kurt couldn’t have described the feeling it gave him if he tried -  _warm, safe, satisfied, journey’s end, home -_ all seemed to skim the edges of the feeling, but nothing encapsulated it completely.  All Kut understood was that he wanted to spend as much time around Blaine as possible.  The rest of his life, even.  The absolute certainty with which he knew this was unnerving.  
  
But then Blaine’s ears seemed to actually perk up slightly, like those of a cat, and Kurt could hear the faint footfalls that probably belonged to his father, despite his promise not to work that day.    
  
Blaine smiled at Kurt.  “Thank you,” he said, before turning to run, quick and silent, out the door.  
  


**~000~**

  
The visits became a regular occurrence after that, though Kurt could find no pattern to them, nothing that would allow him to accurately predict when he might see Blaine.  The pond was still Kurt’s oasis, and Blaine most often found Kurt there, but he did venture into the village in the early pre-dawn hours or under the dark cover of night on a few occasions as well.  The second time he came to Kurt, he had a gift.  It was a bracelet of woven cord dotted with six tiny, glittering blue stones.  Kurt allowed Blaine to tie it around his wrist, and didn’t miss the way Blaine would often stare at Kurt’s braceleted wrist and smile when they were together.  Blaine also seemed to speak a bit more Lashirin - which was the common tongue of humans in Kurt’s region - each time he appeared.  When Kurt asked him about it, Blaine shrugged.  
  
“I hear humans speaking in the woods,” he said.  “Your language is simple.”  
  
Kurt didn’t doubt that it was simple to Blaine; Kurt couldn’t fathom making sense of Blaine’s own language when he heard it, and he wondered whether he must seem utterly childish to Blaine.  When he sheepishly suggested as much, Blaine shook his head fiercely.  
  
“You’re wonderful,” he insisted, making Kurt blush.  
  
As the months began to unfold, they began to tell each other secrets.  Kurt told Blaine of his dreams of leaving his village and seeing the world, and Blaine didn’t laugh at him.  Blaine told Kurt that he had been watching him through the trees for a long time before they met.  
  
“Why didn’t you try speaking with me when you saw me?” Kurt asked.  
  
“I was afraid,” Blaine confessed.  
  
“Of what?”  
  
“Of…humans can be cruel, Kurt.”  Kurt nodded in agreement.  “I saw you, and I couldn’t bear for you to be cruel.  So I hid from you instead.”  
  
“But why?” Kurt prodded.  
  
“Because…because when I look at you I feel things.  And I…if you had been cruel…”  
  
“I feel things when I look at you,” Kurt answered softly when it became clear that Blaine was not going to continue.  “And I know you’re not cruel, but I get scared too.  The feelings scare me.”  
  
“Why?” Blaine asked.  
  
Kurt looked up and met his eyes.  “Because I don’t know what to  _do._ Because there is no space in the world for me to feel the way that I do about you.”  
  
Blaine’s palm slid against Kurt’s, and Kurt felt Blaine’s fingers slowly curl around the back of his hand.  “Maybe we can make a space,” he said.  
  
Their first kiss happened that day, holding hands and sitting on a fallen tree near the bank of the pond.  It was Kurt who leaned in, his heart kicking up a storm in his chest, his gut clenching with the terror of rejection up until the moment when he actually felt Blaine’s lips begin to move against his own.  They kissed for hours, soft and sweet and chaste, fingers brushing over cheeks and jaws, clutching at hips and waists.  
  
That night, Kurt could not stop singing, and when his father pounded on their shared bedroom wall and yelled for him to knock it off and go to sleep, Kurt got up and walked through the village instead, singing softly to himself until he was nearly asleep on his feet.  
  
Their meetings grew more frequent and predictable, and Kurt learned more about Blaine’s life.  His feririar (something like a tribe, as far as Kurt could tell) was nearby; their land actually encompassed the pond where he and Kurt spent so much of their time.  They lived in caves and trees and were very good at hiding from humans.  Their women tended to be in charge, which Kurt found fascinating, and even more fascinating was the fact that Kurt’s ways, his secret, the fact that he reacted to beauty in men rather than women - it was simply a part of life for Blaine.  
  
“No one cares?” Kurt asked.  “Truly?”  
  
“Truly,” Blaine confirmed.  “It’s of as little consequence as eye color.”  
  
And the fact that such a philosophy could exist made Kurt even more desperate to leave the village, to find a place for himself in the world beyond his little oasis in the woods.

  
  
**~000~**

  
  
The one factor keeping Kurt in his village ceased to be a factor at all before his first year with Blaine had passed.  Kurt never found the courage to tell his father his secret, to introduce him to Blaine.  He definitely hadn’t spent enough time with him in his last months, as preoccupied with Blaine as he was.  When his father was laid to rest, Kurt wept for the man himself, for the loss from Kurt’s life, for the fact that Blaine was all he had anymore, and he didn’t even have Blaine.  Not really.  Not properly.  
  
It became frighteningly clear just how much he did  _not_ have Blaine when he found himself at the pond for hours, convulsing with dry sobs, completely alone.  Blaine could find him whenever he liked, but Kurt did not have the same ability.  He had no true friends and no living family.  All he had was a beautiful creature who probably did not feel the same way about Kurt that Kurt felt about him.  
  
By the time Blaine finally did arrive, Kurt had been without food or water or a blanket to stave off the chill for more than twenty-four hours.  He was curled in a ball and vibrating with grief, parched and feverish, and all he could think was that he had to see Blaine.  Had to see him one last time before he could finally let go.  Because he had to let go; he didn’t have Blaine.  He had nothing.  
  
When he felt Blaine’s warmth around him, Kurt found that he did have tears left to shed after all.  Kurt sobbed that he was alone, that everyone that loved him was dead.  He sobbed until he lost coherency, and fell asleep in Blaine’s arms, lost and heartsick and miserable, but finally warm, and  _finally_ safe.  
  


**~000~**

  
When Kurt awoke, his heart was still saturated with pain, but all of his physical discomfort was gone.  He felt amazing, frankly; like he could scale a mountain and still have energy left to single-handedly raise a barn.  The juxtaposition of his emotional and physical states was enough to make his head spin.  And that was before he even sat up.  
  
When he did up he didn’t understand anything he saw.  The walls seemed to be made of leaves and flowers, and the mattress on which he slept felt almost like soft moss.  When he climbed to his feet, he found that even the carpet seemed more like unnaturally soft grass than a carpet at all, and when he took a moment to study it, he saw that tiny flowers and shoots were indeed growing throughout it.  He even saw a wild strawberry near his feet.  
  
Kurt leaned down and plucked the tiny berry, popping it into his mouth and closing his eyes.  It was the most incredible thing he had ever tasted in his life.  
  
The room he was in housed very little in the way of possessions or even furniture; there was a low wooden table in the corner that seemed to be growing out of the floor, and Kurt could have _sworn_ the little chairs around it were actually giant toadstools.  There were a few shelves holding basic cooking implements and a few others holding numerous brightly colored fabrics.  Kurt didn’t see any windows or lamps, but the room gave the distinct impression of being bathed in late afternoon sunlight.  
  
He finally located a door, which blended almost seamlessly with the walls, and paused before pushing it open.  He most definitely did not  _feel_ like he was dreaming.  He had far too strong a sense of his own body to be in the afterlife, and he knew of no humans that lived this way.  
  
He remembered Blaine’s presence just before he lost contact with the waking world; he remembered his smooth, gorgeous voice, though he couldn’t recall what Blaine had said.  He remembered Blaine’s arms around him, and the feeling of perfect safety that they had provided.  
  
Kurt didn’t dare allow himself to draw the most logical conclusion possible.  He wouldn’t be able to bear it if he were wrong.  
  
Without another second’s hesitation, Kurt pushed open the door.  
  
And what he found was  _dazzling._     
  
The room he had been inside was actually its own free-standing structure, surrounded by several other mounds of similar description.  There were enormous trees of various colors all around him, trees with  _windows_ and  _balconies_ and  _staircases_  from top to bottom.  The air was sweet and pure, and the soothing ripple of a nearby brook provided a soothing undertone to the sound of music that filled the air.  
  
After a moment, Kurt realized that it wasn’t the sound of music at all.  It was the sound of voices, and they weren’t even singing; they were  _speaking_  and  _laughing_ and  _yelling_  and  _whispering._   The voices were everywhere.  
  
And then Kurt blinked, and there were  _Sidhe_ everywhere.  He began to feel dizzy despite the vigor of his body, and he slid to the ground, his back pressed against the flowered mound behind him.  A young Sidhe girl spotted him and spoke in music, her eyes wide.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt managed to whimper, splaying his palms against the ground to gain a sense of balance.  The girl scampered off, and Kurt closed his eyes and wondered if he should go back into the room.  He took a few deep breaths, but before he opened his eyes he felt Blaine near.  
  
“Kurt.”  The voice was full of earnest concern, and if Kurt had known better he would have thought it was full of actual  _love._   He began to cry.  
  
“Oh,  _Kurt.”_  
  
And then Blaine was sitting beside him, pulling Kurt into his arms and holding him, stroking back his hair and kissing his forehead softly as he allowed Kurt to fall apart.  
  
“My father died,” Kurt finally said.  “And now I’m all alone.”  
  
There was a pause before Blaine answered.  “My heart bleeds for you, Kurt.  But you aren’t alone.”  His voice was fierce and quiet.  
  
“But…everyone in the village  _hates_ me, Blaine.  I don’t want to go back there ever again.  I have no home anymore, no one who loves me-”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Blaine said it so simply, as if it should have been obvious.  Kurt stared at him in alarm.  “I wasn’t trying - you don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” he said.  
  
“I do want to make you feel better,” Blaine said, “but that isn’t why I said it.  I do love you.  I love you more than anyone else in the world.”  
  
Kurt swallowed.  “I love you too,” he whispered.  
  
“Stay here with me,” Blaine whispered back.  
  
“Really?” Kurt could actually  _feel_ how wide his eyes had become.  
  
“Really.  There is a glamour, so most humans can’t see all this, but I imagine you’ve broken through it already-”  
  
“I have,” Kurt agreed.  
  
“Then stay.  Once you’ve broken the glamour you can always find your way back, no matter how far you may roam.”  
  
“But can I…I mean, the others.  Is it all right if I stay with you?”  
  
“Yes,” Blaine breathed, burying his face in Kurt’s hair and inhaling with a happy sigh.  “There are three humans here already, so the precedent is not new.  I have been speaking to the Council about letting you come and stay for some time, I…I just didn’t know if you would want to.”  
  
“Of course I want to,” Kurt said, snuggling more tightly into Blaine’s side.

 

**~000~**

 

They made love for the first time that night, and Kurt felt as raw and tender as an open wound, but that seemed to make it even more intense and even more  _right._   They lay together in Blaine’s soft moss bed ( _their_ soft moss bed, Kurt had to remind himself, giddiness stirring beneath the grief), and began with soft, slow touches.  They worked their way up to a crescendo, their bodies slick and tingling with oil from cupped red flowers, moving together frantically, desperate to get as close as possible.  They sobbed and laughed and whispered words of love and desire and blind devotion.  And when they finally lay together, sated and still, they returned to soft, slow touches, still pressed as close to one another as possible.

  
When Kurt awoke the next morning, bright morning sun mysteriously filling Blaine’s modest home, he found himself smiling.  Though the loss of his father still stood bright and sharp at the forefront of his mind, a sense of peace and security had settled over him as well.  Because this - Blaine’s home, Blaine’s arms -  _this_ was his true oasis in the world.   
  
“You would have loved him, Dad,” Kurt whispered to the ceiling, before laying his head on Blaine’s golden chest and surrendering to sleep once more.

 

*****

 

**27.**

The first kiss is always important, although the act in question is not always a kiss.  There are moments, deep in sleep or meditation, when these acts are remembered, and it always floods him (either him, both hims)  with the deepest sense of peace, though he never consciously understands why.  
  
But it is that moment - less intense than lovemaking but in some ways more significant - that soothes the soul most profoundly.  It is the moment of conscious, physical connection after their souls have been screaming for it for hours or weeks or years.  
  
Kurt dreams of countless lives in which their lips touch; breathless or nervous, passionate or chaste, sure or hesitant, and countless others in which the gesture is something different - the nuzzling of noses, the wrapping of wings around one another, gentle licks, intertwined tails.  
  
Blaine dreams of tentacles stroking against one another, the sensitive pads of fingertips fusing together for endless perfect moments. He dreams of kisses and kisses and kisses, of connection.  Of the moment.  All the moments.  
  
Because it always feels like he’s been looking for Kurt forever.  Because he has. And until the moment they can truly fuse themselves back into one being (should the universe ever grant them such a miracle), they will continue to find each other and lose each other, an endless dance across lives and worlds and galaxies and dimensions.    
  
And though they lose each other again and again, they never say goodbye.  Because no matter how buried the truth of it is, a deep and abiding part of him (either him, both hims) knows that it isn’t truly goodbye.  For in every world, in every life, there is a dreamtime after the loss of his mate.  In every world and in every life, his mate comes to him in dreams, and kisses him (or nuzzles him, or touches the tips of their wings together, or wraps tentacles together in a tight, warm spiral) and whispers, “My love, I am never saying goodbye to you.”  
  
And they never do.

 

*****

 

**28\. I Will Always Find You**

 

Kurt hummed happily as he felt a warm hand slide along his back. He didn’t open his eyes, but rather took a moment to savor the softness of the bed, the fragrant breeze wafting in through the open window and ruffling his hair, his pleasantly sore muscles from several days of frequent and enthusiastic lovemaking.

Soft lips pressed gently against his shoulder and Kurt smiled. “Already? Blaine, you’re insatiable,” he murmured.

Blaine laughed. “Actually, I just thought you might like to get up for a bit. I made lunch.”

Kurt opened his eyes at that, turning over to smile up at his husband. “You did?”

“Yes, well…you might not like it. But I figured I would try.”

Kurt got up and pulled on his robe, excited to see what Blaine had prepared. So far, Kurt had spent their breaks from sex and cuddling throughout the honeymoon week mostly napping, but Blaine seemed unable to hold still, buzzing about and doing as many blatantly domestic things as possible.

They had lived in this house together for months, but since the wedding Blaine had been treating it like someplace entirely new. He had never “made lunch” for Kurt before – there was hardly any point when Kurt could just stroll outside and pick what he liked from the garden, but the earnest and excited gleam in his eye told Kurt that Blaine had probably spent hours preparing something lavish just to make Kurt smile.

Blaine led Kurt through the house to their outdoor dining area, a stone patio roofed with a pergola that was thick with flowering vines. Blaine darted forward, cursing under his breath, and shooed some pixies gently away from the food on the table. Kurt’s heart caught in his chest at the sight before him.

Blaine had painstakingly collected the very best specimens of all Kurt’s favorite things to eat. There were bowls of tiny purple blossoms and platters of thick, glossy green leaves, a jug of pale orange iced nectar, and plates brimming with honeysuckle. There was a broad, shallow bowl holding some of Kurt’s favorite river plants, and a jar that  _must_ have been imported from the Western Sea Lands containing Kurt’s favorite seaweed, a variety that was rare and expensive to find anywhere near Khryslee. It had been Kurt’s comfort food growing up, and he had mentioned how much he missed it to Blaine on more than one occasion. Kurt wondered how long Blaine had been hiding it and saving it for Kurt.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt said softly, his eyes prickling. “This is the sweetest thing…” he turned and cupped Blaine’s face with both hands. “How did I ever find you?”

“I’m your soulmate,” Blaine replied, beaming at Kurt’s response to the lunch on the table before them. “You  _had_ to find me.”

Blaine produced some bread and cheese for himself, eating them along with the few leaves and blossoms on the table that he liked and could digest. Kurt couldn’t stop gazing at Blaine while they ate.

“You’re amazing, Blaine,” Kurt said, carefully tearing off a piece of seaweed and closing his eyes as the familiar briny taste filled his mouth. “You always take care of me.”

Blaine reached across the table for Kurt’s free hand and held it in his own, thumb lightly stroking across Kurt’s knuckles. “You take care of me, too,” he said softly.

“I know, I just…I mean, you  _always_ take care of me. Not just now.”

Blaine simply watched him, continuing to stroke Kurt’s knuckles.

“In every lifetime, Blaine.  _All_ of them,” Kurt clarified.

“Well, it  _is_  always me,” Blaine said with a gentle smile. They had talked about their soul-walks the week before the wedding, of course, but even then it had been far too immediate and overwhelming for them to go into much detail. That conversation was more tears and formalities and  _“It’s you, it’s really always been you.”_

Kurt chewed on his lip for a moment. “Did I ever tell you that I felt your…presence on my first soul-walk? Before I’d even met you?”

Blaine blinked in surprise. “I…really?”

Kurt laughed nervously and looked down at his food. “Yes. I was supposed to…I wanted to believe that Firae was my fated partner, but I knew there was someone else. Someone in this world who was waiting for me, who was my true mate, and not just someone like Firae that I _could_  have been  _content_  with. But I was so afraid, Blaine.”

Blaine squeezed his hand.

“You…the magnitude of our connection was – is –  _enormous,_ Blaine. It was too much. Firae was so much simpler and safer, and I just…I wasn’t strong enough…” Kurt sighed. “In a way, it was really my own fault I was enslaved. That’s what I get for denying my destiny, I suppose.” He gave a short, bitter laugh and Blaine sucked in a sharp breath.

“Kurt, no.” When Kurt didn’t meet his eyes, Blaine let go of his hand and got up. He walked around the table to where Kurt sat, pulling his chair back and then unceremoniously dropping into Kurt’s lap. Kurt gave a small  _oof_ of surprise, staring up at his husband in alarm.

“Kurt.” Blaine’s voice was smooth and warm and so,  _so_ tender. He wound his arms around Kurt’s neck and looked down into his eyes. “Nothing that was done to you against your will is your fault.  _Nothing._  Whether or not you had been enslaved, I would have found you. You would have found me. You’re my  _everything,_ Kurt. What we do with these little lives can’t even  _touch_ what we are to each other.”

“I never want to be without you,” Kurt said softly. “It terrifies me that I almost lost the chance this time.”

Blaine lifted Kurt’s chin gently with his thumb and forefinger and kissed him, soft and searching and utterly unhurried. Kurt relaxed into the kiss, letting his hands settle at Blaine’s waist. When he finally pulled back he rested his forehead against Kurt’s.

“There was this one moment – most of it was a blur, honestly, all those worlds and lifetimes, but there was a moment that just stood out so clearly to me, in one of our other lives. We were pixies.”

Kurt snorted. “Of  _course_ we were,” he said with fond exasperation.

Blaine quirked an eyebrow. “It  _happened,_  Kurt,” he said. “This isn’t my own invention.”

“I know that. I just think it’s adorable that a lifetime as a pixie is what would stand out to you above all else. I suppose I should be grateful that one cannot be reincarnated as a wheel of _cheese.”_

Blaine moved a hand from Kurt’s neck to tickle his ribs in retaliation, making Kurt giggle and squirm.

“Do you want to hear my beautiful story about our eternal love or would you rather continue to mock me?” Blaine demanded. Kurt stilled Blaine’s hand on his side and managed to kiss him amidst his laughter.

“Can’t I do both?” He asked cheekily. Blaine rolled his eyes and smiled, settling his head into the crook of Kurt’s neck. Kurt laced their fingers together, their joined hands coming to rest on Blaine’s lap.

“We were pixies,” Blaine began again. “It was…odd, getting the sense of being a different kind of creature entirely, especially a simpler creature. But you were – well, it was  _you._ You were beautiful, even bald and blue.”

“That is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Kurt said dramatically.

“Hush, you. You wanted some flowers or something from someone’s cupboard, and I went to fetch them for you even though the man that lived in the house killed pixies on sight.”

Kurt tensed. “I’m not sure I like this story,” he said in a small voice. Blaine stroked his cheek soothingly.

“It’s all right, Kurt, I promise. I was fine, and you were suitably impressed when I brought you the flowers. But I risked my  _life_ just to give you something that would make you happy. And I understood exactly what I was doing, too. When I saw it during the soul-walk, I remember thinking about how foolish that was. But then – then it hit me.”

Kurt made a small noise to indicate his curiosity.

“My mind as a pixie was so much simpler. There were fewer complicated thoughts, and more _instinct._ And my instincts told me that that lifetime would be small, but what I felt for you was bigger than time itself. So it didn’t seem like a risk at all.”

Blaine felt Kurt stiffen in his arms. “I am not saying I will take risks like that in this life,” he clarified quickly, anticipating Kurt’s concern. He felt Kurt relax. “I am just saying that…we are _designed_ to be together.”

“You are the part of me that is missing,” Kurt agreed. “No one else will ever  _fit_  me the way that you do. It’s just – there are times, entire lives, in which we’ve just  _missed_ each other. It’s awful enough knowing that I’ve lived some lives without you, but there are times that you’ve  _been_ _there_  but we just haven’t–”

“We will always find each other,” Blaine said softly.

“But–”

“We will  _always_ find each other, Kurt,” he repeated more firmly. “Even if we have to wait longer than we can stand sometimes.”

Kurt was quiet for several long moments. “I think maybe it still scares me how much I need you,” he finally admitted.

“That’s all right,” Blaine said. “I don’t mind.”

“I remember seeing this one time,” Kurt said finally, “in which we met as children. I made you a daisy crown.”

 

**~000~**

 

They spent the afternoon trading snippets that they could recall from their soul-walks, trying to find a common experience that had stayed with them both.

“I remember one life,” Blaine said finally, lying next to Kurt in the grass and looking up at the clouds, “when it seemed like I wasn’t going to meet you at all. I was an old man, a widower, and I had a cat-”

“Named Jasper,” Kurt supplied softly. “You loved him so much.”

Blaine propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at Kurt, his heart pounding.

“I was out looking for him and I stopped to visit the new neighbor to ask if he’d seen him.”

“And I had,” Kurt finished. “I thought he was a stray, so I had taken him in, and you were so overjoyed when you came to my house and found him there.”

“That isn’t all I found there,” Blaine said, leaning down to kiss Kurt, and for a moment they were those old men once again.

“No,” Kurt agreed, breathless, when Blaine finally pulled away. “It most certainly wasn’t.”

“I’ll always find you,” Blaine breathed against his husband’s lips.

“Always,” Kurt murmured in response, before losing himself in Blaine all over again.

 

**~End~**

 

 **P.S. -** A couple more Sidhe 'verse fics are coming for the 3rd anniversary!  Look for them between May and July of 2014.


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